SIMMS'    WORKS, 

RECENTLY    PUBLISHED 

BY    HARPER    &    BROTHERS. 


THE  PARTISAN  :  a  Tale  of  the  Revolution.     In 
2  vols.  12rao. 

THE  YEMASSEE  :  a  Romance  of  Carolina.     In  2 
vols.  12mo.     Third  Edition. 

GUY  RIVERS  :   a  Tale  of  Georgia.      In  2  vols 
12mo.     Third  Edition. 

MARTIN  FABER,  the  Story  of  a  Criminal.  Second 
Edition.     12mo. 

ATALANTIS,  a  Story  of  the  Sea.     8vo. 


4 


/ 


/ 


THE   PARTISAN: 


A    TALE    OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 


BY   THE    AUTHOR    OF 

"THE  YEMASSEE,"  "GUY  RIVERS,"  &c. 


u 


'  And  Liberty's  vitality,  like  Truth, 
Is  still  undying.    As  the  sacred  fire 
Nature  has  shrined  in  caverns,  still  it  bums. 
Though  the  storm  howls  without." 


IN     TWO     VOLUMES. 

VOL.  I. 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED    BY   HARPER  &   BROTHERS, 

NO.   82   CLIFF-STREET, 

AND   SOLD   BY   THE   PRINCIPAL   BOOKSELLERS   THROUOHOUT   THE 

UNITED  STATES. 

18  35. 


[Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1635,  by 

Harpbr  &  Bkotuers, 
in  the  Clerk's  OfSce  oi  the  Souihem  District  of  New- York.] 


TO  EICHARD  YEADON,  Jr.,  Esq., 

'  OF  SOUTH  CAROLINA. 

Dear  Sir, 

My  earliest,  and,  perhaps,  most  pleasant  rambles 
in  the  fields  of  literature,  were  taken  in  your  com- 
pany— permit  me  to  remind  you  of  that  period  by  in- 
scribing the  present  volumes  with  your  name. 

THE   AUTHOR. 

Barnwell,  South  Carolina, 
July  1,  1835. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/partisantaleofre01simm 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Spending  a  few  weeks,  some  eighteen  months  ago, 
with  a  friend,*  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  once  beau- 
tiful, but  now  utterly  decayed,  town  of  Dorchester, 
South  Carolina,  I  availed  myself  of  the  occasion  to  re- 
visit the  old,  and,  at  one  time,  familiar  ruins.  When  a 
boy,  I  had  frequently  rambled  over  the  ground,  and  lis- 
tened to  its  chronicles  from  the  lips  of  one — now  no 
more — who  had  been  conversant  with  all  its  history. 
Many  of  its  little  legends  were  known  to  me,  and  the 
story  of  more  than  one  of  its  inhabitants,  of  whom 
nothing  now  remains  but  the  record  in  the  burial- 
place,  had  been  long  since  registered  in  my  mind. 
These, — together  with  its  own  sad  transition  by  re- 
peated disasters,  from  the  busy  bustle  of  the  crowded 
thoroughfare,  to  the  silence  and  the  desolation  of  the 
tombs — were  well  adapted  to  inspire  in  me  a  senti- 
ment of  veneration  ;  and,  with  the  revival  of  many  old 
time  feelings  and  associations,  I  strolled  through  the 
solemn  ruins — the  dismantled  church — the  frowning 
fortress,  now  almost  hidden  in  the  accumulating  for- 
ests— reading  and  musing  as  I  went,  among  the  moul- 
dering tombstones,  and  finding  food  for  sweet  thoughts 
and  a  busy  fancy  at  every  step  in  my  ramble.     The 

♦  Mr.  John  W.  Sommers,  of  St.  Paul's  Parish — a  gentleman 
whose  fine  conversational  powers  and  elegant  hospitality  need  no 
eulogy  from  me  for  their  proper  appreciation  among  all  those  who 
know  him. 


X  ADVERTISEMENT. 

familiar  features  of  the  partisan  warfare ;  and  the  title 
of  the  work,  indeed,  will  persuade  the  reader  to  look 
rather  for  a  true  description  of  that  mode  of  warfare, 
than  for  any  consecutive  story  comprising  the  fortunes 
of  a  single  personage.  This, he  is  solicited  to  keep  in 
mind,  as  one  of  my  leading  objects  has  been  to  give  a 
picture,  not  only  of  the  form  and  pressure  of  the  time 
itself,  but  of  the  thousand  scattered  events  making 
up  its  history.  The  very  title  should  imply  something 
desultory  in  the  progress  and  arrangement  of  the  tale ; 
and  my  aim  has  been  to  give  a  story  of  events,  rather 
than  of  persons.  The  one,  of  course,  could  not  well 
have  been  done  without  the  other;  yet  it  has  been  my 
object  to  make  myself  as  greatly  independent  as  pos- 
sible of  the  necessity  which  would  combine  them.  A 
sober  desire  for  history — the  unwritten,  the  unconsid- 
ered, but  veracious  history — has  been  with  me,  in  this 
labour,  a  sort  of  principle.  The  phases  of  a  time  of 
errors  and  of  wrongs — of  fierce  courage — tenacious 
patriotism — yielding,  but  struggling  virtue,  not  equal  to 
the  pressure  of  circumstances,  and  falling  for  a  time, 
Antaeus-like,  only  for  a  renewal  and  recovery  of  its 
strength — it  has  been  my  aim  to  delineate,  with  all  the 
rapidity  of  one,  who,  with  the  mystic  lantern,  runs  his 
uncouth  shapes  and  varying  shadows  along  the  gloomy 
wall,  startling  the  imagination  and  enkindling  curiosity. 
The  medium  through  which  we  now  look  at  these 
events,  is,  in  some  respects,  that  of  a  glass  darkened. 
The  characters  rise  up  before  us  grimly  or  indistinctly. 
We  scarcely  believe,  yet  we  cannot  doubt.  The  evi- 
dence is  closed — the  testimony  now  irrefutable — and 
imagination,  however  audacious  in  her  own  province, 
only  ventures  to  imbody  and  model  those  features  of 


ADVERTISEMENT.  xi 

the  past,  which  the  sober  truth  has  left  iudistmct,  as 
not  within  her  notice,  or  unworthy  her  regard. 

I  have  entitled  the  "  Partisan"  a  tale  of  the  Revo- 
lution— it  was  intended  to  be  particularly  such.  The 
characters,  many  of  them,  are  names  in  the  nation, 
familiar  as  our  thoughts.  Gates,  Marion,  De  Kalb, 
and  the  rest,  are  all  the  property  of  our  country.  In 
the  illustrations  which  I  have  presumed  to  give  of 
these  personages,  I  have  followed  the  best  authorities. 
The  severity  with  which  I  have  visited  the  errors  of 
the  former  general,  is  sustained  by  all  the  writers — 
by  Otho  Williams,  by  Lee,  by  Johnson,  and  the  current 
histories.  There  can  be  little  doubt,  I  believe,  of  the 
truth,  in  his  case,  of  my  drawing.  It  may  be  insisted 
on,  as  of  questionable  propriety,  thus  to  revive  these 
facts,  and  to  dwell  upon  the  faults  and  foibles  of  a  man 
conspicuous  in  our  history,  and  one,  who,  in  a  single 
leading  event,  contributed  so  largely  to  the  glory  of  its 
pages.  But,  on  this  point,  I  am  decided,  that  a  nation 
gains  only,  in  glory  and  in  greatness,  as  it  is  resolute 
to  behold  and  to  pursue  the  truth.  I  would  paint  the 
disasters  of  my  country,  where  they  arose  from  the 
obvious  error  of  her  sons,  in  the  strongest  possible 
colours.  We  should  then  know — our  sons  and  servants, 
alike,  should  then  know — how  best  to  avoid  them.  The 
rock  which  has  wrecked  us  once,  should  become  the 
beacon  for  our  heirs  hereafter.  It  is  only  by  making 
it  so,  that  the  vicissitudes  of  life — its  follies  or  mis- 
fortunes— can  be  made  tributary  to  its  triumphs.  For 
this  reason  I  have  dwelt  earnestly  upon  our  disasters ; 
and,  with  a  view  to  the  moral,  I  have  somewhat  depart- 
ed from  the  absolute  plan  of  the  story,  to  dilate  upon 
the  dangerous  errors  of  the  leading  personages  in  the 


Xll  ADVERTISEMENT. 

events  drawn  upon.  The  history  of  the  march  of 
Gates's  army,  I  have  carefully  elaborated  with  this 
object;  and  the  reflecting  mind  will  see  the  parallel 
position  of  cause  and  effect  which  I  have  studiously 
sought  to  make  obvious,  wherever  it  seemed  to  me 
necessary  for  the  purposes  of  instruction.  It  is  in  this 
way,  only,  that  the  novel  may  be  made  useful,  when  it 
ministers  to  morals,  to  mankind,  and  to  society. 


THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

•'  Oh,  grievous  desolation  I  look,  and  see 
Their  sad  condition  !     'Tis  a  piercing  sight : 
A  country  overthrown  and  crushed — the  scythe 
Gone  over  it  in  wrath — and  sorrowing  Grief 
Dumb  with  her  weight  of  wo." 

• 
Our  narrative  begins  in  South  Carolina,  during  the 
summer  of  1780.  The  arms  of  the  British  were  at  that 
time  triumphant  throughout  the  colony.  Their  armies 
overran  it.  Charlestown,  the  chief  city,  had  stood  a 
siege,  and  had  fallen,  after  a  protracted  and  honourable 
defence.  One-half  of  the  military  strength  of  the  lower 
country,  then  the  most  populous  region,  had  become  pris- 
oners of  war  by  this  disaster ;  and,  for  the  present,  were 
thus  incapacitated  from  giving  any  assistance  to  their 
brethren  in  arms.  Scattered,  crushed,  and  disheartened 
by  repeated  failures,  the  whigs,  in  numerous  instances, 
hopeless  of  any  better  fortune,  had  given  in  their  adhe- 
sion to  the  enemy,  and  had  received  a  pledge  of  British 
protection.  This  protection  secured  them,  as  it  was 
thought,  in  their  property  and  persons,  and  its  condi- 
tions simply  called  for  their  neutrality.  Many  of  the 
more  firm  and  honourably  tenacious,  scorning  all  com- 
promise with  invasion,  fled  for  shelter  to  the  swamps 
and  mountains ;  and,  through  the  former,  all  Europe 
could  not  have  traced  their  footsteps.  In  the  whole 
slate,  at  this  period,  the  cause  of  American  liberty  had 
no  head,  and  almost  as  little  hope  :  all  was  gloomy  and 
Vol.  L— B 


14  THE    PARTISAN. 

unpromising.  Marion,  afterward  styled  the  "  Swamp 
Fox,"  and  Sumter,  the  "  Game  Cock"— epithets  aptly- 
descriptive  of  their  several  military  attributes — had  not 
yet  properly  risen  in  arms,  though  both  of  them  had 
been  engaged  already  in  active  and  successful  service. 
Their  places  of  retreat  were  at  this  time  unknown ; 
and,  certainly,  they  were  not  then  looked  to,  as  at  an 
after  period,  with  that  anxious  reliance  which  their 
valour  subsequently  taught  their  countrymen  to  enter- 
tain. Nothing,  indeed,  could  be  more  deplorably  pros- 
trate than  were  the  energies  of  the  colony.  Here  and 
there,  only,  did  some  little  partisan  squad  make  a  stand, 
or  offer  a  show  of  resistance  to  the  incursive  British 
or  the  marauding  and  malignant  tory — disbanding,  if 
not  defeated,  most  usually  after  the  temporary  object 
had  been  obtained,  and  retreating  for  security  into  shel- 
ter and  inaction.  There  was  no  sort  of  concert,  save 
in  feeling,  among  the  many  who  were  still  not  unwil- 
ling for  the  fight :  they  doubted  or  they  dreaded  one 
another  ;  they  knew  not  whom  to  trust.  The  next-door 
neighbour  of  the  stanch  whig  was  not  unfrequently  a 
furious  loyalist — as  devoted  to  George  the  Third  as  the 
other  could  have  been  to  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  human 
liberty.  The  contest  of  the  Revolution,  so  far  as  it  had 
gone,  had  confirmed  and  made  tenacious  this  spirit  of 
hostility  and  opposition,  until,  in  the  'end,  patriot  and 
loyalist  had  drawn  the  sword  against  one  another,  and 
rebel  and  tory  were  the  degrading  epithets  by  which 
they  severally  distinguished  the  individual  whose  throat 
they  strove  to  cut.  When  the  metropolis  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  British,  and  their  arms  extended  through 
the  state,  the  tories  alone  were  active  and  formidable. 
They  now  took  satisfaction  for  their  own  previous 
trials  ;  and  crime  was  never  so  dreadful  a  monster  as 
when  they  ministered  to  its  appetites.  Mingled  in  with 
the  regular  troops  of  the  British,  or  forming  separate 
bodies  of  their  own,  and  officered  from  among  them- 
selves, they  penetrated  the  well-known  recesses  which 
gave  shelter  to  the  fugitives.  If  the  rebel  resisted,  they 
slew  him  without  quarter  ;    if  he  submitted,  they  hung 


THE    PARTISAN.  15 

liim  without  benefit  of  clergy  :  they  spoiled  his  children 
of  their  possessions,  and  not  unfrequeutly  slew  them 
also.  But  few  sections  of  the  low  and  middle  country 
escaped  their  search.  It  was  only  in  the  bald  regions 
of  North  Carolina  that  the  fugitives  could  find  repose  ; 
only  where  the  most  miserable  poverty  took  from  crime 
all  temptation,  that  the  beaten  and  maltreated  patriots 
dared  to  give  themselves  a  breathing-space  from  flight. 
In  the  same  manner  the  frontier-colony  of  Georgia  had 
already  been  overrun  and  ravaged  by  the  conquerors ; 
and  there,  as  it  was  less  capable  of  resistance,  all  show 
of  opposition  had  been  long  since  at  an  end.  Tiie  in- 
vader, deceived  by  these  appearances,  declared  in 
swelling  language  to  his  monarch,  that  the  two  colo- 
nies were  properly  subjugated,  and  would  now  return 
to  their  obedience.     He  knew  not  that, 

■"  Freedom's  battle  once  begun, 
Bequeathed  from  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Though  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won." 

But,  though  satisfied  of  the  efficiency  of  his  achieve- 
ments, and  himself  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  assu- 
rances which  he  had  made  to  this  efiect,  the  commander 
oFi^e  British  forces  did  not  suffer  the  slightest  relaxa- 
tion of  his  vigilance.  Earl  ("oi'nwallis,  one  of  the  best 
of  the  many  leaders  sent  by  the  mother-country  to  the 
colonies  in  that  eventful  contest,  had  taken  charge  of 
the  southern  marching  army  soon  after  the  fall  of 
Charlestown.  He  was  too  good  a  soldier  to  omit,  or 
to  sleep  in  the  performance  of  any  of  his  duties.  He 
proceeded  with  due  diligence  to  confirm  his  conquests ; 
and,  aptly  sustained  by  the  celerity  and  savage  enter- 
prise of  the  fierce  legionary.  Colonel  Tarleton,  the 
country  was  soon  swept  from  the  seaboard  to  the  mount- 
ains. This  latter  able  but  cruel  commander,  who  en- 
acted the  Claverhouse  in  South  Carolina  with  no  small 
closeness  of  resemblance  to  his  prototype,  was  as  inde- 
fatigable as  unsparing.  He  plunged  headlong  into  fight, 
with  a  courage  the  most  unscrupulous,  with  little  reflec- 
tion, seeming  rather  to  confide  in  the  boldness  and 


16  THE    PARTISAN. 

impetuosity  of  his  onset  than  to  any  ingenuity  of  plan, 
or  careful  elaborateness  of  manoeuvre.  Add  to  this 
that  he  was  sanguinary  in  the  last  degree  when  tri- 
umphant, and  we  shall  easily  understand  the  sources 
of  that  terror  v/hich  his  very  name  was  found  to  inspire 
among  the  undrilled,and,inhalfthe  numberof  instances, 
the  unarmed  militia  which  opposed  him.  "  Tarleton's 
quarter"  was  the  familiar  and  bitterly-derisive  phrase 
by  which,  when  the  whigs  had  opportunities  of  revenge, 
his  blood-thirsty  treatment  of  the  overthrown  and  cap- 
tive was  remembered  and  requited. 

The  entire  colony  in  his  possession — all  opposition, 
worthy  the  name,  at  an  end — the  victor,  the  better  to 
secure  his  conquest,  marched  an  army  throughout  the 
country.  His  presence,  for  the  time,  had  the  desired 
effect.  His  appearance  quelled  disaffection,  overawed 
all  open  discontents,  and  his  cavalry,  by  superior  skill 
and  rapidity  of  movement,  readily  dispersed  the  little 
bands  of  Carolinians  that  here  and  there  fell  in  his 
way.  Nor  was  this  exhibition  of  his  power  the  only 
proceeding  by  which  he  laboured  to  secure  the  fruits 
of  his  victory.  With  an  excellent  judgment,  he  estab- 
lished garrisons  in  various  eligible  points  of  the  coun- 
try, in  order  to  its  continual  presence :  these  stations 
were  judiciously  chosen  for  independent  and  co-opera- 
tive enterprise  alike  ;  they  were  sufficiently  nigh  for 
concert — sufficiently  scattered  for  the  general  control 
of  an  extensive  territory.  Rocky  Mount,  Ninety  Six, 
Camden,  Hanging  Rock,  Dorchester,  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  military  posts  beside,  were  thus  created,  all 
amply  provided  with  munitions  of  war,  well  fortified, 
and  garrisoned  by  large  bodies  of  troops  under  experi- 
enced officers. 

These  precautions  for  a  time  compelled  submission. 
The  most  daring  among  the  patriots  were  silent — the 
most  indulgent  of  the  loyalists  were  active  and  enter- 
prising. To  crown  and  secure  all,  Sir  Henry  Clinton, 
who  was  at  this  period  commander-in-chief  of  the 
southern  invading  army,  proclaimed  a  general  pardon, 
with  some  few  exceptions,  to  all  the  inhabitants,  for 


THE    PARTISAN.  17 

their  late  treasonable  offences — promising  them  a  full 
reinstatement  of  their  old  immunities,  and  requiring 
nothing  in  return  but  that  they  should  remain  quietly 
in  their  homes.  This  specious  and  well-timed  indul- 
gence had  its  due  eflect  ;  and,  in  the  temporary  panic 
produced  by  Lincoln's  defeat,  the  fall  of  the  metropolis, 
the  appearance  of  an  army  so  formidable  as  that  of  the 
British,  and  the  establishment  of  military  posts  and 
fortresses  all  around  them,  the  people  generally  put  on 
a  show  of  acquiescence  to  the  authority  of  the  invader, 
which  few  in  reality  felt,  and  which  many  were  secretly 
but  resolutely  determined  never  to  submit  to. 

Thus  much  is  necessary,  in  a  general  point  of  view, 
to  the  better  comprehension  of  the  narrative  which 
follows.  The  reader  will  duly  note  the  situation  of  the 
colony  of  South  Carolina ;  and  when  we  add,  that  the 
existing  condition  of  things  throughout  the  Union,  was 
only  not  so  bad,  and  the  promise  of  future  fortune  but 
little  more  favourable,  all  has  been  said  necessary  to 
his  proper  comprehension  of  the  discouraging  circum- 
stances under  which  the  partisan  warfare  of  the  South 
began.  With  this  reference,  we  shall  be  better  able 
to  appreciate  that  deliberate  valour,  that  unyielding 
patriotism,  which,  in  a  few  spirits,  defying  danger  and 
above  the  sense  of  privation,  could  keep  alive  the 
sacred  fires  of  liberty  in  the  thick  swamps  and  dense 
and  gloomy  forests  of  Carolina — asking  nothing,  yield- 
ing nothing,  and  only  leaving  the  field  the  better  to  re- 
enter it  for  the  combat.  We  now  proceed  to  the  com- 
mencement of  our  narrative. 
B  2 


18  THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Sweet  flow  thy  waters,  Ashley,  and  pleasant  on  thy  banks 
The  mossy  oak.  and  massy  pine  stand  forth  in  solemn  ranks ; 
They  fringe  thee  in  a  fittmg  guise,  since  with  a  gentle  play, 
Through  bending  groves  and  circling  dells  thou  tak'st  thy  mazy 

way — 
Thine  is  the  suijimer's  loveliness,  save  when  September  storms 
Arouse  thee  to  the  angry  mood,  that  all  thy  face  deforms  ; 
And  thine  the  recollection  old,  which  makes  thee  proudly  shine. 
When  happy  thousands  saw  thee  rove,  and  Dorchester  was  thine." 

The  scene  is  very  much  altered  now.  Dorchester 
belongs  to  Ashley  no  longer.  It  is  a  name — a  shadow. 
The  people  are  gone  ;  the  site  is  distinguished  by  its 
ruins  only.  The  owl  hoots  through  the  long  night 
from  the  old  church-tower,  and  the  ancient  woods  and 
the  quiet  waters  of  the  river  give  back,  in  melancholy 
echoes,  his  unnoted  cries.  The  Carolinian  looks  on 
the  spot  with  a  saddened  spirit.  The  trees  crowd 
upon  the  ancient  thoroughfare  ;  the  brown  viper  hisses 
from  the  venerable  tomb,  and  the  cattle  graze  alon.g 
the  clustering  bricks  that  distinguish  the  old-time  chim- 
ney-places. It  is  now  one  of  those  prospects  that  kin- 
dle poetry  in  the  most  insensible  observer.  It  is  one 
of  the  visible  dwelling-places  of  Time  ;  and  the  ruins 
that  still  mock,  to  a  certain  extent,  his  destructive 
progress,  have  in  themselves  a  painful  chronicle  of 
capricious  change  and  various  affliction.  They  speak 
for  the  dead  that  lie  beneath  them  in  no  stinted  num- 
ber ;  they  record  the  leading  features  of  a  long  history, 
crowded  with  vicissitudes. 

But  our  purpose  now  is  with  the  past,  and  not  with  the 
present.  We  go  back  to  the  time  when  the  village  of 
Dorchester  was  full  of  life,  and  crowded  widi  inhabit- 
ants ;  when  the  coaches  of  the  wealthy  planters  of 
the  neighbourhood  thronged  the  highway ;  when  the 


r 


THE    PARTISAN.  19 

bells  from  the  steeple  sweetly  called  to  the  Sabbath 
worship  ;  and  when,  through  the  week,  the  shops  were 
crowded  with  buyers,  and  the  busy  hammer  of  the 
mechanic,  and  the  axe  of  the  labourer,  sent  up  their 
crowding  noises,  imaging,  upon  a  small  scale,  many  of 
the  more  stirring  attributes  of  tlie  great  city,  and  all 
of  its  life.  Dorchester  then  had  several  hundred  in- 
habitants. The  plan  of  the  place  lies  before  me  now — 
a  regularly  laid-out  city,  of  perfect  squares,  with  its 
market-place,  its  hotels,  and  its  churches  ;  its  busy 
wharves,  and  its  little  craft  of  sloop  and  schooner, 
lying  at  anchor,  or  skimming  along  the  clear  bosom  of 
the  Ashley  in  all  the  show  of  impulse  and  prosperity. 
It  had  its  garrison  also,  and  not  the  smallest  portion 
of  its  din  and  bustle  arose  from  the  fine  body  of  red- 
coated  and  smartly-dressed  soldiers  then  occupying  the 
square  fort  of  tapia-work,  which  to  this  day  stands 
upon  the  hill  of  Dorchester — ^just  where  the  Ashley 
bends  in  with  a  broad  sweep  to  the  village  site — in  a 
singular  state  of  durability  and  preservation. 

This  fort  commanded  the  river  and  village  alike. 
The  old  bridge  of  Dorchester,  which  crossed  the  river 
at  a  little  distance  above  it,  was  also  within  its  range. 
The  troops  at  frequent  periods  paraded  in  the  market- 
place, and  every  art  was  made  use  of  duly  to  impress 
up(m  the  people  the  danger  of  any  resistance  to  a 
power  so  capable  to  annoy  and  to  punish.  This  being 
the  case,  it  was  amusing  to  perceive  how  docile,  how 
loyal  indeed,  were  those  inhabitants,  who,  but  a  few 
weeks  before,  were  in  arms  against  their  present  rulers, 
and  who  now  only  waited  a  convenient  season  to  re- 
sume the  weapons  which  policy  had  persuaded  them 
to  lay  aside. 

None  of  the  villagers  were  more  dutiful  or  devout  in 
their  allegiance  than  Richard  Humphries — Old  Dick, 
as  his  neighbours  more  familiarly  styled  him — who 
kept  the  "  Royal  George,"  then  the  high  tavern  of  the 
village.  The  fat,  beefy  face  of  the  good-natured  Hano- 
verian hung  in  yellow  before  the  tavern  door,  on  one  of 
the  two  main  roads  leading  from  the  country  through 


20  THE    PARTISAN. 

the  town.  The  old  monarch  had,  in  this  exposed  situ- 
ation, undergone  repeated  trials.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  Revolution,  the  landlord,  who  really  cared 
not  who  was  king,  had  been  compelled  by  public  opin- 
ion to  take  down  the  sign,  replacing  it  with  another 
more  congenial  to  the  popular  feeling.  George,  in  the 
mean  time,  was  assigned  less  conspicuous  lodgings  in 
an  ancient  garret.  The  change  of  circumstances  re- 
stored the  venerable  portrait  to  its  place,  and  under  the 
eye  of  the  British  garrison,  there  were  few  more 
thorough-going  loyalists  in  the  village  than  Richard 
Humphries.  He  was  a  sociable  old  man,  fond  of 
drink,  and  generally  serving  his  own  glass  whenever 
called  upon  to  replenish  that  of  his  customer.  His 
house  was  the  common  thoroughfare  of  the  travelling 
and  the  idle.  The  soldier,  not  on  duty,  found  it  a  plea- 
sant lounge ;  the  tory,  confident  in  the  sympathies  of 
the  landlord,  and  solicitous  of  the  good  opinion  of  the 
ruling  powers,  made  it  his  regular  resort ;  and  even  the 
whig,  compelled  to  keep  down  his  patriotism,  not  un- 
wisely sauntered  about  in  the  same  wide  hall  with  the 
enemy  he  feared  and  hated,  but  whom  it  was  no  part 
of  his  policy  at  the  present  moment  to  alarm  or  irri- 
tate. Humphries,  from  these  helping  circumstances, 
distanced  all  competition  in  the  village.  The  opposi- 
tion house  was  maintained  by  a  suspected  whig — one 
Pryor — who  was  avoided  accordingly.  Pryor  was  a 
sturdy  citizen,  who  asked  no  favours  ;  and  if  he  did 
not  avow  himself  in  the  language  of  defiance,  at  the 
same  time  scorned  to  take  any  steps  to  conciliate  pa- 
tronage or  do  away  with  suspicion.  He  simply  cocked 
his  hat  at  the  old-time  customer,  now  passing  to  the 
other  house  ;  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
breeches,  and,  with  a  manful  resignation,  growled 
through  his  teeth  as  he  surveyed  the  prospect — "  He 
may  go  and  be  d — d." 

This  sort  of  philosophy  was  agreeable  enough  to 
Humphries,  who,  though  profligate  in  some  respects, 
was  yet  sufficiently  worldly  to  have  a  close  eye  to  the 
accumulation  of  his  sixpences.     His  household  was 


THE    PARTISAN.  21 

well  served ;  for  though  himself  a  widower,  his  daughter 
Bella,  a  buxom,  lively,  coquettish  but  genile-aatured 
creature,  proved  no  common  houseiieeper.  She  was  but 
a  girl,  however,  and,  wanting  the  restraining  presence  of 
a  matron,  and  possessing  but  little  dignity  herself,  the 
house  hadits  attractions  for  many,in  the  freedoms  which 
the  old  man'  either  did  not  or  would  not  see,  and  which 
the  girl  herself  was  quite  too  young,  too  innocent,  and 
perhaps  too  weak,  often  to  find  fault  with.  Her  true 
protection,  however,  was  in  a  brother  not  much  older 
than  herself,  a  fine  manly  fellow,  and — though  with  the 
cautious  policy  of  all  around  him  suppressing  his  pre- 
dilections for  the  time — a  stanch  partisan  of  American 
liberty. 

It  was  on  a  pleasant  afternoon  in  June,  that  a  tall, 
well-made  youth,  probably  twenty-four  or  five  years 
of  age,  rode  up  to  the  door  of  the  "  George,"  and  throw- 
ing his  bridle  to  a  servant,  entered  the  hotel.  His 
person  had  been  observed,  and  his  appearance  duly 
remarked  upon,  by  several  persons  already  assembled 
in  the  hall  which  he  now  approached.  The  new  comer, 
indeed,  was  not  one  to  pass  unnoticed.  His  person 
was  symmetry  itself,  and  the  ease  with  which  he  man- 
aged his  steed,  the  unhesitating  boldness  with  which 
he  kept  on  his  way  and  gazed  around  him  at  a  period 
and  in  a  place  where  all  were  timid  and  suspicious, 
could  not  fail  to  fix  attention.  His  face,  too,  was  sig- 
nificant of  a  character  of  command,  besides  being  finely 
intelligent  and  tolerably  handsome ;  and  though  he 
carried  no  weapons  that  were  visible,  there  was  some- 
thing exceedingly  military  in  his  movement,  and  the 
cap  which  he  wore,  made  of  some  native  fur  and 
slightly  resting  upon  one  side  of  his  thickly  clustering 
brown  hair,  imparted  a  daring  something  to  his  look, 
which  gave  confirmation  to  the  idea.  Many  were  the 
remarks  of  those  in  the  hall  as,  boldly  dashing  down 
the  high-road,  he  left  the  church  to  the  right,  and  mov- 
ing along  the  market-place,  came  at  once  towards  the 
"  George,"  which  stood  on  the  corner  of  Prince  and 
Bridge  streets. 


22  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  A  bold  chap  with  his  spurs,  that,"  exclaimed  Ser- 
geant Hastings,  of  the  garrison,  who  was  a  frequent 
guest  of  the  tavern,  and  had  found  no  small  degree 
of  favour  with  the  landlord's  daughter.  "  A  bold  chap, 
that — do  you  know  him,  Humphries  ?" 

This  question  brought  the  landlord  to  the  window. 
He  looked  intently  upon  the  youth  as  he  approached,  but 
seemed  at  fault. 

"Know  him?  why  yes,  I  think  I  do  know  him,  ser- 
geant :  that's — yes — that's — bless  my  soul,  I  don't 
know  him  at  all !" 

"  Well,  be  sure,  now,  Humphries,"  coolly  spoke  the 
sergeant.  "  Such  a  good-looking  fellow  ought  not 
to  be  forgotten.  But  he  'lights,  and  we  shall  soon  know 
better." 

A  few  moments,  and  the  stranger  made  his  appear- 
ance. The  landlord  bustled  up  to  him,  and  offered 
assistance,  which  the  youth  declined  for  himself,  but 
gave  directions  for  his  horse's  tendance. 

"  Shall  be  seen  to,  captain,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  captain  ?"  demanded  the  youth, 
sternly. 

"Bless  me,  don't  be  angry,  squire;  but  didn't  you 
say  you  was  a  captain  ?"  apologetically  replied  Hum- 
phries. 

"  I  did  not." 

"  Well,  bless  me,  but  I  could  have  sworn  you  did 
— now  didn't  he,  gentlemen  ? —  sergeant,  didn't  you 
hear — " 

"It  matters  not,"  the  stranger  interrupted  ;  "  it  mat- 
ters not.  You  were  mistaken,  and  these  gentlemen 
need  not  be  appealed  to.  Have  my  horse  cared  for  if 
you  please.  He  has  come  far  and  fast  to-day,  and  will 
need  a  good  rubbing.  Give  him  fodder  now,  but  no 
corn  for  an  hour." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  captain." 

"  Hark'ee,  friend,"  said  the  youth  angrily,  "  you  will 
not  style  me  captain  again,  unless  you  would  have 
more  than  you  can  put  up  with.  I  am  no  captain,  no 
colonel,  no  commander  of  any  sort,  and  unless  you 


THE    PARTISAN-  23 

give  me  the  army,  will  not  wear  the  title.  So,  under- 
stand me." 

"  Ask  pardon,  squire  ;  but  it  comes  so  common — ask 
pardon,  sir ;"  and  the  landlord  shuffled  off,  as  he  spoke, 
lo  see  after  his  business.  As  he  retired,  Sergeant 
Hastings  made  up  to  the  new  comer,  and  with  all 
the  consequence  of  one  having  a  portion  of  authority, 
and  accustomed  to  a  large  degi-ee  of  deference  from 
those  around  him,  proceeded  to  address  the  youth  on 
the  subject  matter  of  his  momentary  annoyance. 
>  "  And,  with  your  leave,  young  master,  where's  the 
harm  in  being  captain  or  colonel]  I  don't  see  that 
there's  any  oflence  in  it." 

'i.  "  None,  none  in  the  world,  sir,  in  being  captain  or 
colonel,  but  some,  I  take  it,  in  being  styled  such  un- 
deservedly. The  office  is  good  enough,  and  I  have  no 
objections  to  it ;  but  I  have  no  humour  to  be  called  by 
any  nickname." 

"  Nickname — why,  d — n  it,  sir — why,  what  do  you 
mean  1  Do  you  pretend  that  it's  a  nickname  to  be 
called  an  officer  in  his  majesty's  troops,  sir?  If  you 
do — "  and  the  sergeant  concluded  with  a  look. 

"  Pistols  and  daggers  !  most  worthy  officer  in  his 
majesty's  troops,  do  not  look  so  dangerous,"  replied  the 
youth,  very  coolly.  "  I  have  no  sort  of  intention  to 
offend  captain  or  sergeant.  I  only  beg  that,  as  I  am 
neither  one  nor  the  other,  nobody  will  force  me  into 
their  jackets." 

"  And  why  not,  yovmg  master  ?"  said  the  sergeant, 
somewhat  pacified,  but  still,  as  he  liked  not  the  non- 
chalance of  the  stranger,  seemingly  bent  to  press  upon 
him  a  more  full  development  of  his  opinions.  "  Why 
not  1  Is  it  not  honourable,  I  ask  you,  to  hold  his  ma- 
jesty's commission,  and  would  you  not,  as  a  loyal  sub- 
ject, be  very  glad  to  accept  one  at  his  hands  1" 

There  was  no  little  interest  manifested  by  the  spec- 
tators as  this  question  was  put,  and  they  gathered  more 
closely  about  the  beset  stranger,  but  still  keeping  at  a 
deferential  distance  from  the  sergeant.  He,  too,  looked 
forward  to  the  reply  of  the  youth  with  some  interest. 


24  THE    PARTISAN. 

His  head  was  advanced  and  his  arms  akimbo,  and, 
stationed  in  front  of  the  person  he  examined,  in  the 
centre  of  the  hall,  his  clumsy  compact  person  and 
round  rosy  face  looked  exceedingly  imposing  in  every 
eye  but  that  of  the  person  for  whose  especial  sight  their 
various  terrors  had  been  put  on.  The  youth  seemed 
annoyed  by  the  pertinacity  of  his  assailant,  but  he 
made  an  effort  at  composure,  and  after  a  brief  pause 
replied  to  the  inquiry. 

"  Honourable  enough,  doubtless.  I  know  nothing 
about  the  employment,  and  cannot  say.  As  for  taking 
a  commission  at  his  majesty's  hands,  I  don't  know  that 
I  should  do  any  such  thing." 

The  declaration  produced  a  visible  emotion  in  the 
assembly.  One  or  two  of  the  spectators  slid  away 
silently,  and  the  rest  seemed  variously  agitated,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  one  person  whom  the  stranger  had 
not  before  seen — a  stout,  good-looking  man,  seemingly 
in  humble  life,  and  not  over  his  own  age — came  forward, 
and,  with  nothing  ostentatious  in  his  manner,  placed 
himself  alongside  of  the  man  who  had  so  boldly  de- 
clared himself.  Sergeant  Hastings  seemed  for  an 
instant  almost  paralyzed  by  what  appeared  the  audacity 
of  the  stranger.  At  length,  detaching  his  sword  par- 
tially from  the  sheath,  so  that  a  few  inches  of  the  blade 
became  visible,  he  looked  round  with  a  potential  aspect 
upon  the  company,  and  then  proceeded — 

"  Hah  ! — not  take  a  commission  from  the  hands  of 
his  majesty — indeed  ! — and  why  not,  I  pray  ?" 

Unmoved  by  the  solemnity  of  the  proceeding,  the 
youth  with  the  utmost  quietness  replied — 

"  For  the  very  best  reason  in  the  world — I  should 
scarcely  know  what  to  do  with  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  it !"  said  the  sergeant.  "  And  so  you 
are  not  an  officer  ?" 

"  No.  I've  been  telling  you  and  this  drinking  fel- 
low, the  landlord,  all  the  time,  that  I  am  no  officer,  and 
yet  neither  of  you  seems  satisfied.  Nothing  will  do, 
but  you  will  put  me  in  his  majesty's  commission,  and 


THE    PARTISAN.  25 

make  me  a  general  and  what  not,  whether  I  will  or 
no.      But  vvhere's  the  man  ? — Here,  landlord  !" 

"  Can  I  serve,  sir?"  said  a  soft  voice,  followed  by 
the  pretty  maid  of  the  inn,  the  fair  Bella  Humphries, 
whose  person  was  now  visible  behind  the  bar. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you  can  ;"  and  as  the  stranger  youth 
spoke,  and  the  maid  courtesied,  he  tapped  her  gently 
upon  the  cheek,  and  begged  that  he  might  be  shown 
his  apartment,  stating,  at  the  same  time,  the  probability 
that  he  would  be  an  inmate  for  several  days  of  the 
tavern.  The  sergeant  scowled  fiercely  at  the  liberty 
thus  taken,  and  the  youth  could  not  help  seeing  that 
the  eye  of  the  girl  sank  under  the  glance  that  the 
former  gave  her.  He  said  nothing,  however,  and  taking 
in  his  hand  the  little  fur  valise  that  he  carried,  the  only 
furniture,  besides  saddle  and  bridle,  worn  by  his  horse, 
he  followed  the  steps  of  Bella,  who  soon  conducted 
him  to  his  chamber,  and  left  him  to  those  ablutions 
which  a  long  ride  along  a  sandy  road  had  rendered 
particularly  necessary. 

The  sergeant  meanwhile  was  not  so  well  satisfied 
with  what  had  taken  place.  He  was  vexed  that  he  had 
not  terrified  the  youth — vexed  at  his  composure — vexed 
that  he  had  tapped  Bella  Humphries  upon  her  cheek, 
and  doubly  vexed  that  she  had  submitted  with  such 
excellent  grace  to  the  aforesaid  tapping.  The  truth  is, 
Sergeant  Hastings  claimed  some  exclusive  privileges 
with  the  maiden.  He  was  her  regular  gallant — be- 
stowed upon  her  the  greater  part  of  his  idle  time,  and 
had  flattered  himself  that  he  stood  alone  in  her  esti- 
mation ;  and  so,  perhaps,  he  did.  His  attentions  had 
given  him  a  large  degree  of  influence  over  her,  and 
what  with  his  big  speech,  swaggering  carriage,  and 
flashy  uniform,  poor  Bella  had  long  since  been  taught  to 
acknowledge  his  power  over  her  heart.  But  the  girl  was 
coquettish,  and  her  very  position  as  maid  of  the  inn 
had  contributed  to  strengthen  and  confirm  the  natural 
predisposition.  The  kind  words  and  innocent  freedoms 
of  the  handsome  stranger  were  not  disagreeable  to  her, 
and  she  felt  not  that  they  interfered  with  the  claims  of 

Vol.  I.— C 


26  THE    PARTISAN^ 

the  sergeant,  or  would  be  so  disagreeable  to  him,  until 
she  beheld  the  scowling  glance  with  which  he  sur- 
veyed them. 

In  the  hall  below,  to  which  the  landlord  had  now 
returned,  Hastings  gave  utterance  to  the  spleen  which 
this  matter  had  occasioned. 

"  That's  an  impudent  fellow — a  very  impudent  fel- 
low.    I  don't  like  him." 

The  landlord  looked  up  timidly,  and  after  a  brief 
pause,  in  which  the  sergeant  continued  to  pace  the 
apartment,  again  ventured  upon  speech. 

"  And  what  do  you  think — what  do  you  think  he  is, 
sergeant  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  I  asked  you  :  you  know 
every  thing ;  at  least,  you  pretend  to.  Why  are  you 
out  here?     Who  is  he  I" 

"  Bless  me,  I  can't  say ;  I  don't  know."' 

"  What  do  you  think  he  is  ?" 

"  God  knows !" 

"  He  certainly  is  an  impudent — a  very  suspicious 
person." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  sergeant  ?"  asked  one  of  the  per- 
sons present,  with  an  air  of  profound  alarm. 

"  I  do — a  very  suspicious  person — one  that  should 
be  watched." 

"I  see  nothing  suspicious  about  him,"  said  another, 
the  same  individual  who  had  placed  himself  beside  the 
stranger  when  the  wrath  of  the  sergeant  was  expected 
to  burst  upon  him,  and  when  he  had  actually  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  sword.  "  I  see  nothing  suspicious  about 
the  stranger,"  said  the  speaker,  boldly,  "  except  that  he 
doesn't  like  to  be  troubled  with  foolish  questions." 

"  Foolish  questions — foolish  questions  !  Bless  me, 
John  Davis,  do  you  know  what  you're  a-saying?" 
The  landlord  spoke  in  great  trepidation,  and  placed 
himself,  as  he  addressed  Davis,  between  him  and 
the  sergeant. 

"  Yes,  I  know  perfectly  what  I  say.  Master  Hum- 
phries ;  and  I  say  it's  very  unmannerly,  the  way  in  which 
the  stranger  has  been  pestered  with  foolish  questions. 


THE    PARTISAN.  27 

I  say  it,  and  I  say  it  again  ;  and  I  don't  care  who  hears 
it.     I'm  ready  to  stand  up  to  what  I  say." 

"  Bless  me,  the  boy's  mad !  Now,  sergeant,  don't 
mind  him — he's  only  foolish,  you  see," 

"  Mind  him — oh  no  !  Look  you,  young  man,  do  you 
see  that  tree  ?  It  won't  take  much  treason  to  tuck  you 
up  there." 

"  Treason,  indeed !  I  talk  no  treason,  Sergeant 
Hastings,  and  I  defy  you  to  prove  any  agin  me.  I'm 
not  to  be  frightened  this  time  o'  day,  I'd  have  you  to 
know ;  and  though  you  are  a  sodger,  and  wear  a  red 
coat,  let  me  tell  you  there's  a  tough  colt  in  the  woods 
that  your  two  legs  can't  straddle.  There's  no  treason 
in  that,  for  it  only  concerns  one  person,  and  that  one 
person  is  your  own  self." 

"  You  d — d  rebel,  is  it  so  you  speak  to  a  sergeant 
in  his  majesty's  service  ?  Take  that" — and  with  the 
words,  with  his  sword  drawn  at  the  instant,  he  made  a 
stroke  with  the  flat  of  it  at  the  head  of  the  sturdy  dispu- 
tant, which,  as  the  latter  somewhat  anticipated  it,  he 
was  prepared  to  elude.  This  was  done  adroitly  enough, 
and  with  a  huge  club  which  stood  conveniently  in  the 
corner,  he  had  prepared  himself  without  fear  to  guard 
against  a  repetition  of  the  assault,  when  the  stranger, 
about  whom  the  coil  had  arisen,  now  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  at  once  interposed  between  the  parties. 


28  THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  It  is  a  written  bondage — writ  in  stripes, 
And  letter'd  in  our  blood.     Like  beaten  hounds, 
We  crouch  and  cry,  but  clencli  not — lick  the  hand 
Tliat  strilies  and  scourges." 

Hastings  turned  furiously  at  the  interruption ;  but 
the  stranger,  though  entirely  unarmed,  stood  firmly,  and 
looked  on  him  with  composure. 

"  That's  a  bright  sword  you  wear,"  said  he,  "  but 
scarcely  a  good  stroke,  and  any  thing  but  a  gallant 
one,  Master  Sergeant,  which  you  make  with  it.  How 
now,  is  it  the  fashion  with  English  soldiers  to  draw 
upon  unarmed  men  V 

The  person  addressed  turned  upon  the  speaker  with 
a  scowl  which  seemed  to  promise  that  he  would 
transfer  some  portion  of  his  anger  to  the  new- 
comer. He  had  no  time,  however,  to  do  more  than 
look  his  wrath  at  the  interruption ;  for  among  the 
many  persons  whom  the  noise  had  brought  to  the 
scene  of  action  was  the  fair  Bella  Humphries  herself. 
She  waited  not  an  instant  to  place  herself  between 
the  parties,  and,  as  if  her  own  interest  in  the  persons 
concerned  gave  her  an  especial  right  in  the  mr.tter,  she 
fearlessly  passed  under  the  raised  weapon  of  Has- 
tings, addressing  him  imploringly,  and  with  an  air  of 
intimacy,  which  was,  perhaps,  the  worst  feature  in  the 
business — so,  at  least,  the  individual  appeared  to  think 
to  whose  succour  she  had  come.  His  brow  blackened 
still  more  at  her  approach,  and  when  she  interfered  to 
prevent  the  strife,  a  muttered  curse,  half-audible,  rose 
to  his  lips  ;  and  brandishing  the  club  which  he  had 
wielded  with  no  little  readiness  before,  he  seemed 
more  than  ever  desirous  of  renewing  the  combat,  though 
at  all  its  disadvantages.     But  the  parties  around  gener- 


THE    PARTISAN.  29 

ally  interfered  to  prevent  the  progress  of  the  strife ; 
and  Bella,  whose  mind  seemed  perfectly  assured  of 
Hastings'  invincibility,  addressed  her  prayers  only  to 
him,  and  in  behalf  of  the  other. 

"  Now  don't  strike.  Master  Sergeant — don't,  I  pray  ! 
John  is  only  foolish,  and  don't  mean  any  harm.  Strike 
him  not,  I  beg  you  !" 

"  Beg  for  yourself,  Bella  Humphries — I  don't  want 
any  of  your  begging  for  me.  I'm  no  chicken,  and  can 
hold  my  own  any  day  against  him.  So  don't  come  be- 
tween us — you  in  particular — you  had  better  keep 
away." 

The  countryman  spoke  ferociously ;  and  his  dark 
eye,  long  black  hair,  and  swarthy  cheek,  all  combined 
to  give  the  expression  of  fierce  anger  which  his  words 
expressed,  a  lively  earnestness  not  ill-adapted  to  sustain 
them.  The  girl  looked  on  him  reproachfully  as  he 
spoke,  though  a  close  observer  might  have  seen  in  her 
features  a  something  of  conscious  error  and  injustice. 
It  was  evident  that  the  parties  had  been  at  one  period 
far  more  intimate  than  now ;  and  the  young  stranger, 
about  whom  the  coil  had  begun,  saw  in  an  instant  the 
true  situation  of  the  twain.  A  smile  passed  over  his 
features,  but  did  not  rest,  as  his  eye  took  in  at  a  glance 
the  twofold  expression  of  Bella's  face,  standing  between 
her  lovers,  preventing  the  fight — scowled  on  furiously 
by  the  one,  and  most  affectionately  leered  at  by  the 
other.  Her  appeal  to  the  sergeant  was  so  compliment- 
ary, that  even  were  he  not  half-ashamed  of  what  he  had 
already  done  in  commencing  a  contest  so  unequal,  he 
must  have  yielded  to  it  and  forborne  ;  and  some  of  his 
moderation,  too,  might  have  arisen  from  his  perceiving 
the  hostile  jealousy  of  spirit  with  which  his  rival  re- 
garded her  preference  of  himself.  His  vanity  was  en-^ 
listed  in  the  application  of  the  maiden,  and  with  a 
becoming  fondness  of  expression  in  his  glance,  turning 
to  the  coquette,  he  gave  her  to  understand,  while 
thrusting  his  sword  back  into  the  scabbard,  that  he 
consented  to  mercy  on  the  score  of  her  application. 
Still,  as  Davis  held  out  a  show  of  fight,  and  stood 
C2 


30  THE    PARTISAN. 

snugly  ensconced  behind  his  chair,  defying  and  even 
inviting  assault,  it  was  necessary  that  the  sergeant 
should  draw  off  honourably  from  the  contest.  While 
returning  the  weapon  to  the  sheath,  therefore,  he  spoke 
to  his  enemy  in  language  of  indulgent  warning,  not 
unmixed  with  the  military  threats  common  at  the 
period — 

"  Hark  you,  good  fellow — you're  but  a  small  man  to 
look  out  for  danger,  and  there's  too  little  of  you,  after 
all,  for  me  to  look  after.  I  let  you  off  this  time  ;  but 
you're  on  ticklish  territory,  and  if  you  move  but  one 
side  or  the  other,  you're  but  a  lost  man  after  all.  It's 
not  a  safe  chance  to  show  rebel  signs  on  the  king's 
highway,  and  you  have  an  ugly  squinting  at  disaffec- 
tion. My  eyes  are  on  you,  now,  and  if  I  but  see  you 
wink,  or  hear  you  hint,  treason, — ay,  treason,  rebellion 
— I  see  it  in  your  eyes,  I  tell  you, — but  wink  it  or  look 
it  again,  and  you  know  it's  short  work,  very  short 
work,  and  a  shorter  journey,  to  the  tight  rope  and  the 
branching  tree." 

The  speaker  looked  round  significantly  upon  the 
company  as  he  uttered  a  warning  and  threat,  which, 
though  addressed  particularly  to  the  refractory  country- 
man, were  yet  evidently  as  much  meant  for  the  benefit 
of  the  rest.  Not  that  the  worthy  sergeant  had  any  rea- 
son for  uttering  language  which,  in  all  respects,  seemed 
so  gratuitous  ;  but  this  was  of  a  piece  with  the  wantonly 
injudicious  habits  of  his  superiors,  from  whom,  with 
the  readiness  of  suboi-dination,  he  made  free  to  borrow, 
and,  with  as  little  discrimination,  quite  as  frequently 
employed  it,  not  less  for  the  gratification  of  his  vanity 
than  for  the  exercise  of  his  power.  The  speech  had 
something  of  its  usual  effect, — keeping  in  silence  those 
whose  love  of  talk  might  have  prompted  to  occasional 
remark,  though  without  any  serious  feeling  in  the  mat- 
ter; and  subduing  thoroughly  all  demonstrations  of 
dislike  on  the  part  of  the  few,  who,  feeling  things  more 
deeply,  might  be  disposed  rather  to  act  than  to  speak, 
when  under  such  provocation.  However  the  persons 
around  may  have  felt  ai  the  moment,  they  were  gene- 


THE    PARTISAN.  31 

rally  prudent  enough  to  be  silent.  Old  Humphries 
alone,  with  uplifted  hands,  and  somewhat  touched  with 
liquor,  now  seeing  all  danger  over,  came  forward,  and 
hobbling  up  to  the  sergeant,  cried  out,  in  reply — 

"  Why,  bless  us,  sergeant,  you  talk  as  if  you  were 
among  the  enemies  of  his  majesty,  and  not  among  his 
good  friends  and  well-wisher*.  Now,  I'm  sure  I  can 
answer  for  all  here.  There's  Jones  and  Baxter,  Lyons 
and  Tom  Walker  there — all  true  blue — right  loyal  good 
fellows,  who  drink  the  health  of  King  George — God 
bless  him  ! — whenever  they  can  get  a  drink  ;  and  as  for 
Jack  Davis,  bless  us,  sergeant,  there's  no  better  boy 
in  Goose  Creek,  though  he  is  cross  and  snappish  when 
his  fit's  on,  and  no  chicken  either,  as  he  says  himself. 
He'll  fight  for  his  majesty  any  day,  I  know.  There's  no 
mistake  in  him — there's  no  mistake  in  any  of  the  boys 
— I  can  answer  for  all  that's  here,  except — "  and  here 
the  landlord  paused  in  one  of  the  longest  speeches  he 
had  ever  made,  and  his  eye  rested  doubtfully  upon  the 
person  of  the  stranger. 

"  Except  me,"  said  the  latter,  coming  forward, 
looking  Hastings  attentively  in  the  face  as  he  spoke, 
and  at  the  same  time  placing  his  hand  with  some  little 
emphasis  upon  the  shoulders  of  old  Humphries — "  ex- 
cept me.  Master  Humphries,  for  whom  you  can  say 
nothing — of  whom  you  know  nothing — but  about  whom 
you  are  excessively  curious.  You  only  know  I  am  not  a 
captain,  nor  yet  a  colonel  ;  and  as  I  have  not  satisfied 
your  desires  on  these  subjects,  of  course  you  cannot 
answer  for  my  loyalty." 

"  Bless  us,  no  ;  that  I  can't,  stranger." 
"  But  I  can.  Master  Humphries,  and  that's  enough 
for  all  parties  ;  and  I  can  say,  as  you  have  already  said 
for  these  gentlemen,  that  my  loyalty  is  quite  as  good  as 
that  of  any  around  me,  as  we  shall  all  see  in  season. 
And  now  that  this  quarrel  is  ended,  let  me  only  beg  of 
the  worthy  sergeant  here,  that  he  may  not  be  so  quick 
to  draw  his  weapon  upon  the  man  that  is  unarmed. 
The  action  is  by  no  means  so  creditable  to  the  sol- 


32  THE    PARTISAN. 

dier,  and  one  that  he  may,  most  probably,  in  time, 
come  to  be  ashamed  of."  •' 

The  perfect  coohiess  and  self-possession  "of  the 
stranger,  in  this  brief  interlude,  confounded  Hastings 
not  less  than  it  did  the  rest.  He  knew  not  in  what 
character  to  behold  him,  and,  but  that  he  was  rather 
stolid  than  otherwise,  might  have  exhibited  traces  of 
that  confusion  which  his  mind  certainly  felt.  But  the 
air  of  superiority  which  the  other  manifested,  annoyed 
him  too  greatly  to  give  way  to  doubt  or  indetermina- 
tion  ;  and  he  was  about  to  answer  roughly,  when  a  re- 
mark which  Davis  made,  of  a  churlish  nature,  to  the 
coquettish  Bella  Humphries,  who  still  lingered  beside 
the  sergeant,  attracted  the  latter's  attention,  and  giving 
a  glance  to  the  speaker,  he  threw  his  collected  spleen 
in  that  quarter,  while  addressing  the  girl — 

"  See,  now,  that's  the  good  you  get  for  saving  him 
from  punishment.  He  doesn't  thank  you  at  all  for 
what  you've  done." 

f  "  No,  that  I  don't !"  cried  the  incorrigible  Davis : 
♦'  I  owe  her  as  little  thanks  as  I  owe  you  kindness, — 
and  I'll  pay  off  both  some  day.  I  can  hold  my  own 
without  her  help  ;  and  as  for  her  begging,  I  don't  want 
it — I  won't  have  it — and  I  despise  it." 

"  What's  that  ]"  cried  Hastings,  with  a  show  of 
returning  choler. 

"  Nothing,  sergeant,  nothing ;  don't  mind  what  he 
says ;  he's  only  foolish,  and  don't  mean  any  harm. 
Now  take  your  hand  away  from  the  sword,  I  beg  you." 

The  girl  looked  so  prettily,  as  she  prayed  him  to  be 
quiet,  that  the  soldier  relented.  Her  deferential  solici- 
tude was  all-influential,  and  softened  much  of  the  harsh 
feeling  that  might  have  existed  in  his  bosom.  Taking 
her  arm  into  his  own,  with  a  consequential  strut, 
and  throwing  a  look  of  contempt  upon  his  rival  as  he 
passed,  the  conqueror  moved  away  into  the  adjoining 
apartment,  to  which,  as  his  business  seems  private  at 
present,  we  shall  not  presume  to  follow  him. 

His  departure  was  the  signal  for  renovated  life 
in  several  of  those  persons  who,  in  the  previous  scene, 


THE    PARTISAN.  33 

seemed  quiescent  enough.  They  generously  came 
forward  to  Davis  with  advice  and  friendly  counsel  to 
keep  himself  out  of  harm's  way,  and  submit,  most  civ- 
illy, like  a  good  Christian,  to  the  gratuitous  blow  and 
buffet.  The  most  eloquent  among  them  was  the  land- 
lord. 

"  Now,  bless  me,"  said  he,  "  John,  my  dear  boy, 
why  will  you  be  after  striving  with  the  sergeant  ? 
You  know  you  can't  stand  against  him,  and  where's 
the  use  ?  He's  quite  too  tough  a  colt  for  you  to  man- 
age, now,  I  tell  you." 

"  So  you  think.  Master  Humphries — so  you  think. 
But  I'm  not  so  sure  of  it,  now,  by  half.  I  can  stand  a 
thump  as  well  as  any  man — and  I  haint  lived  so  long 
in  Goose  Creek  not  to  know  how  to  give  one  too. 
But  how  you  stand  it — you,  I  say,  Dick  Humphries — 
I  don't  altogether  see." 

"  Eh,  John — how  I  stand  it  ?  Bless  us,  what  do  you 
mean,  boy  ?  He  don't  trouble  me — he  don't  threaten 
me  — I'm  a  good  subject  to  his  majesty." 

The  youth  laughed  irreverently,  and  the  stranger, 
who  had  been  standing  apart,  but  still  within  hearing, 
noted  the  incident  with  a  considerable  show  of  interest 
in  his  countenance. 

"  And  what  do  you  laugh  for,  John?  Don't,  boy — I 
pray  you,  don't.  Let's  have  a  glass  together,  then  say 
what  you  mean.  Good  old  Jamaica  !  Won't  you  join 
us,  stranger  ?" 

The  ^'outh  declined,  and  Davis  proceeded — 

"  My  meaning's  soon  said.  Master  Humphries.  I'm 
sorry  to  see — "  and  here,  with  a  praiseworthy  delicacy, 
he  whispered  in  the  old  man's  ear  his  objections  to  the 
large  degree  of  intimacy  existing  between  the  British 
sergeant  and  his  pretty  daughter. 

"  Oh,  go,  John  !  there's  no  harm,  boy.  You're  only 
jealous  'cause  she  turned  you  off." 

"  Turned  me  off,  indeed  !"  responded  the  other,  in- 
dignantly and  aloud — "turned  me  off!  No,  Master 
Humphries — not  so  bad  neither.  But  it's  no  use  talk- 
ing— ^you'll  know  all  in  time,  and  will  wish  you  had 


34  THE    PARTISAN. 

minded  what  I  told  you.  But  go  your  own  gait,  youll 
grow  fatter  upon  it ;"  and  with  this  not  very  nice  proverb 
the  disappointed  lover  turned  away. 

This  scene  had  not  been  lost  upon  the  stranger  youth, 
though  little  regarded  by  the  other  personages,  who 
had  each  made  his  speech  and  taken  his  drink  and  de- 
parture. There  was  much  more  spoken  that  we  do 
not  care  to  record,  but  which,  duly  noted  by  the  ears  of 
the  one  observer  to  whom  we  have  made  especial  refer- 
ence, was  held  not  unworthy  in  his  mind  of  proper 
consideration.  He  had  seen  a  dogged  disposition  on 
the  part  of  Davis  to  break  and  to  quarrel  with  the 
British  sergeant ;  and  though  he  clearly  saw  that 
much  of  this  disposition  arose,  as  old  Humphries  had 
asserted,  from  a  jealous  dislike  of  the  intimacy  between 
Bella  and  the  person  in  question,  he  yet  perceived  that 
many  of  the  phrases  made  use  of  by  the  countryman 
indicated  any  thing  but  respect  or  good  feeling  for  the 
British  authority.  There  was  a  sturdy  brusqueness 
in  his  air  and  manner,  when  the  other  spoke  to  him  of 
treason,  which  said  that  the  crime  was,  after  all,  a  venial 
one  in  his  mind  ;  and  this  disposition,  perceptible  as  it 
must  have  been  to  the  sergeant,  not  less  than  to  the 
stranger,  might  doubtless  have  prompted  much  of  that 
violence  on  his  part  which  had  been  so  happily  and  in 
time  arrested.  Nor  was  there  any  thing  precipitate  or 
imcoJBjnon  in  what  the  sergesint  had  done.  Such  ex- 
hibitions were  common  in  the  bitter  and  unscrupulous 
warfaa-e  of  the  south.  The  word  and  the  blow,  and  fre- 
quently the  blow  first,  was  the  habitual  mode  of  silen- 
cing, not  treason,  but  all  manner  of  opposition  ;  and  this 
was  the  injudicious  course  by  which  the  British,  re- 
garding South  Carolina  as  a  conquered  province,  re- 
volted the  popular  feeling  from  all  sympathy  with  their 
authority,  and  provoked  that  spirit  of  determined  resist- 
ance and  hostility  which,  in  a  few  weeks  only  after 
this  event,  blazed  up  throughout  the  whole  colony,  from 
one  end  to  the  other,  and  commenced  that  series  of 
harassing  operations,  the  partisan  warfare,  which,  in 
epite  of  frequent  defeats,  cut  off  the  foraging  parties  of 


THE    PARTISAN.  35 

ihe  British  army,  destroyed  its  resources,  diminished 
its  exercise,  contracted  its  sphere  of  operations  daily, 
and,  in  the  end,  drove  the  invader  to  the  seaboard,  and 
from  thence  to  his  departing  vessels. 

Old  Humphries  followed  Davis  to  the  door,  and 
again  renewed  the  conversation.  The  landlord  seemed 
to  have  a  good  feeling  for  his  guest,  who  had  probably 
been  a  crony  of  his  own,  and  a  favoured  lover  of  his 
daughter,  before  the  British  army  had  made  its  appear- 
ance to  compel  a  change  of  political  sentiment  in  the 
one,  or  a  British  sergeant,  in  his  red  coat  and  round 
face,  to  effect  as  great  a  revolution  in  the  bosom  of  the 
other.  His  object  seemed  to  be  to  persuade  Davis  into 
a  more  cautious  habit  of  forbearance,  when  speaking 
of  the  existing  powers  ;  and  he  warned  him  of  the  un- 
hesitating nature  of  the  enemy  when  punishing  what 
they  held  rebellion,  and  of  the  severe  kinds  of  punish- 
ment put  in  exercise  on  such  occasions.  But  whether 
it  was  that  the  youth  really  felt  sorely,  too  sorely  for 
calm  reflection,  the  loss  of  his  sweetheart — >or  whether 
the  assault  of  the  sergeant  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the 
doubtful  tenure  by  which  the  American  held  his  secu- 
rity under  the  rule  that  now  prevailed  throughout  the 
land — may  not  well  be  said  ;  but  there  was  a  reckless 
audacity  in  his  replies  to  the  friendly  suggestions  of 
the  landlord,  which  half-frightened  the  latter  personage 
out  of  his  wits. 

"  I'd  rather  eat  acorns,  now,  Master  Humphries,  I  tell 
you,  and  sleep  in  the  swamps  in  August,  than  hush  my 
tongue  when  I  feel  it's  right  to  speak.  They  shan't 
crow  over  me,  though  I  die  for  it ;  and  let  them  look 
out ;  for  I  tell  you  now,  Dick  Humphries,  flesh  and 
blood  can't  stand  their  persecutions.  There's  no 
chance  for  life,  let  'lone  property.  Look  how  they 
did  Frampton's  wife,  and  she  in  such  a  way  ;  and  only 
three  days  ago  they  tied  up  Tom  Raysor's  little  boy 
Ben,  and  give  him  a  matter  of  fifty  lashes  with  hick- 
ories thick  as  my  thumb,  and  all  because  the  boy 
wouldn't  tell  where  his  father  was  hiding." 

"  But  you  see,  John,  that  all  came  of  the  hiding. 


36  THE    PARTISAN. 

If  Frampton  and  Raysor  had  not  taken  to  the  swamp, 
the  old  lady  would  have  been  let  alone,  and  the  boy 
wouldn't  have  been  whipt.  Aint  they  in  arms  now 
against  his  majesty  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  if  his  majesty  goes  on  after  this  fashion 
there  will  be  a  few  more,  I  can  tell  you.  Now,  you 
yourself,  Dick  Humphries,  I  put  it  to  yourself,  whether 
the  thing's  right,  and  whether  we  ought  to  stand  it. 
Now,  I  know  you  of  old,  and  know  you're  no  more  a 
loyalist  than — " 

"  Hush !  Bless  us,  John  Davis,  how  you  talk,  boy  ! 
hush,  hush !"  and  with  an  air  of  the  greatest  trepida- 
tion, looking  around  and  perceiving  that,  though  the 
stranger  appeared  to  be  reading  very  earnestly  from 
the  pages  of  the  "  Royal  (Charlestown)  Gazette,"  he 
was  yet  within  hearing,  the  landlord  led  his  companion 
farther  from  the  door,  and  the  conversation,  as  it  pro- 
ceeded to  its  conclusion,  was  entirely  lost  to  all  ears 
but  their  own.  It  was  not  long  before  Humphries  re- 
turned to  the  hall,  and  endeavoured  to  commence  a  sort 
of  desultory  dialogue  with  the  stranger  guest,  whose 
presence  had  produced  the  previous  quarrel.  But  this 
personage  seemed  to  desire  no  such  familiarity,  for 
scarcely  had  the  old  man  begun,  when  throwing  down 
the  sheet  he  had  been  reading,  and  thrusting  upon  his 
head  the  rakish  cap  which  all  the  while  had  rested  on 
his  knee,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  moving  rapidly  to 
the  door  of  the  apartment,  followed  the  steps  of  Da- 
vis, whom  he  beheld  pursuing  his  way  along  the  main 
bridge  road  and  towards  the  river.  The  path  was 
clear  in  this  quarter ;  not  a  solitary  being,  but  them- 
selves, was  to  be  seen — by  them  at  least.  In  the  cen- 
tre of  the  bridge — a  crazy  structure  of  ill-adjusted 
timber  thrown  over  a  point  of  the  stream  where  it 
most  narrowed — the  pursuing  stranger  overtook  the 
moodily-wandering  countryman.  He  stopped  him  in 
his  progress  till  he  could  come  up  with  him,  by  a 
friendly  hail;  and  freely  approaching  him,  tendered 
him  his  open  hand  in  a  cordial  salutation.  The  other 
grasped  it  with  honest  pleasure. 


THE    PARTISAN.  37 

*'  Master  Davis,  for  such,  I  believe,  is  your  name," 
said  the  stranger,  frankly,  "  I  owe  you  thanks  for  so 
readily,  though  I  must  say  rashly,  taking  up  my  quar- 
rel. I  understand  that  your  brusia  with  that  soldier- 
fellow  was  on  my  account;  and  though,  like  yourself, 
I  need  nobody  to  fight  my  battles,  I  must  yet  thank 
you  for  the  good  spirit  which  you  have  shown  in  this 
matter." 

"  No  thanks,  stranger.  I  don't  know  what  name  to 
call  you — " 

"  No  matter ;  names  are  unnecessary,  and  the  fewer 
known  the  better  in  these  doubtful  times.  I  care  not 
to  utter  mine,  though  it  has  but  little  value.  Call  me 
what  you  please."  The  other  looked  surprised,  but 
still  satisfied,  and  replied  after  this  fashion — 

"  Well,  squire,  as  I  said,  you  owe  me  no  thanks  at 
all  in  this  affair,  for  though  I  did  take  up  the  matter  on 
your  hook,  it  was  because  I  had  a  little  sort  of  hanker- 
ing to  take  it  up  on  my  own.  1  have  long  had  a  grudge 
at  that  fellow,  and  I  didn't  care  much  on  whose  score 
it  began,  so  it  had  a  beginning." 

"  He  has  done  you  wrong  ?"  half  affirmatively,  half 
inquiringly,  said  his  companion. 

"  Reckon  he  has,  squire,  and  no  small  wrong  neither ; 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  seeing  there's  little 
help  for  it." 

"  How !  no  help  for  it !  What  may  be  the  nature  of 
this  injury,  for  which  a  man  with  your  limbs  and  spirit 
can  find  no  help  ?" 

The  countryman  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  curious 
expression,  in  which  a  desire  to  confide,  and  a  proper 
hesitancy  in  intrusting  his  secret  thoughts  to  a  stran- 
ger, were  mingled  equally.  The  other  beheld  the  ex- 
pression, and  readily  divining  the  difficulty,  proceeded 
to  remove  it. 

"  This  man  has  wronged  you,  friend  Davis :  you 
are  his  match — more  than  his  match  ;  you  have  better 
make  and  muscle,  and  manage  your  club  quite  as  well 
as  he  his  broadsword  : — why  should  you  not  have  jus- 
tice if  you  desire  it  ?" 

Vol.  I.— D 


38  THE    PARTISAN. 

4'  If  I  desire  it !"  cried  the  other,  and  his  black  eye 
sparkled.  "  I  do  desire  it,  squire ;  but  there's  odds 
against  me,  or  we'd  a-been  at  it  afore  this." 

"What  odds?" 

"Look  there  !"  and  as  Davis  replied  he  pointed  to 
the  fortress  upon  the  opposite  hill,  a  few  hundred  yards 
off,  where  the  cross  of  Great  Britain  streamed  high 
among  the  pine-trees,  and  from  the  entrance  of  which, 
at  that  very  moment,  a  small  body  of  regulars  were 
pouring  out  into  the  stre6t,  and  proceeding  with  martial 
music  to  the  market-place. 

"  I  see,"  replied  the  other — "  I  see  ;  but  why  should 
they  prove  odds  against  you  in  a  personal  affair  with 
this  sergeant  1     You  have  justice  from  them  surely." 

"  Justice  ! — such  justice  as  a  tory  captain  gives 
when  he  wants  your  horse,  and  don't  want  to  pay  for 
it."  Davis  replied  truly,  in  his  summing  up  of  British 
justice  at  that  period. 

"  But  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  people  would 
not  be  protected,  were  complaints  properly  made  to  the 
officers  ?" 

"  I  do  ;  and  what's  worse,  complaint  only  goes  after 
new  hickories.  One  man  was  strapped  up  only  yester- 
day, because  he  complained  that  Corporal  Townes 
kicked  his  wife  and  broke  his  crockery.  They  gave 
him  a  hundred  lashes." 

"  And  yet  loyalty  must  have  its  advantages,  more 
than  equal  to  this  usage,  else" — and  a  smile  of  bitter 
scorn  played  upon  the  lips  of  the  speaker  as  he  finished 
the  sentence — "  else  there  would  not  be  so  many  to 
love  it  so  well  and  submit  to  it  so  patiently." 

The  countryman  gazed  earnestly  at  the  speaker, 
whose  eyes  were  full  of  a  most  searching  expression, 
which  could  not  be  misunderstood. 

"  Dang  it,  stranger,"  he  cried,  "  what  do  you  mean — • 
who  are  you  1" 

"  A  man — one  who  has  not  asked  for  a  British  pro- 
tection, nor  submitted  to  their  hickories  ;"  and  the  form 
of  the  stranger  was  elevated  duly  as  he  spoke,  and 
his  eye  was  lighted  up  with  scornful  fires,  as  his  re- 


THE    PARTISAN.  39 

ference  was  made  sarcastically  to  the  many  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood who  had  done  both.  The  man's  face  was 
flushed  when  he  heard  this  reply ;  the  tears  gathered 
in  his  eyes,  and  with  a  bitter  emphasis,  though  in  low 
tones,  as  if  he  felt  all  the  shame  of  his  acknowledg- 
ment, he  replied — 

"  God  curse  me,  but  I  did !  I  was  one  of  those  who 
took  a  protection.  Here  it  is — here's  the  paper.  Here's 
where  I  sold  my  country,  and  put  myself  down  in 
black  and  white,  to  be  beaten  like  a  dog  with  hickories. 
But  it's  not  too  late  ;  and  look  you,  stranger,  I  believe 
you're  true  blue,  but  if  you  aint,  why  it's  all  the  same 
thing — I  care  not — you  may  go  tell  quick  as  you  please ; 
but  I  will  break  the  bargain." 

"  How  ? — speak  !"  and  the  form  of  the  other  was  ad- 
vanced and  seemed  to  dilate,  as  he  watched  the  earnest 
glow  in  every  feature  of  his  companion. 

"  Hov/  ? — by  tearing  up  the  paper  :  see" — and,  as  he 
spoke,  he  tore  into  small  bits  the  guaranty  of  British 
protection,  which,  in  common  with  most  of  his  neigh- 
bours, he  had  been  persuaded  to  accept  from  the  com- 
mandant for  his  security,  and  as  a  condition  of  that 
return,  which  he  pledged  at  the  same  time,  to  his  duty 
and  his  allegiance. 

"  Your  life  is  in  my  hands,"  exclaimed  Lis  compan- 
ion, deliberately.     "  Your  life  is  in  my  hands." 

"  Take  it !"  cried  tlie  countrj'man,  and  he  threw  him- 
self upon  his  guard,  while  his  fingers  clutched  fiercely 
the  knife  which  he  carried  in  his  bosom.  His  small 
person,  slight  but  active,  thrown  back,  every  muscle  in 
action  and  ready  for  contest ;  his  broad-brimmed  white 
hat  dashed  from  his  brow ;  his  black  glossy  hair 
dishevelled  and  flying  in  the  wind;  lips  closely  com- 
pressed, while  his  deep,  dark  eye  shot  forth  fires  of 
anger,  fiercely  enlivening  the  dusky  sallow  of  his  cheek 
— all  gave  to  him  a  most  imposing  expression  of  ani- 
mated life  and  courage  in  the  eye  of  his  companion. 

"  Take  it — take  the  worthless  life  !"  he  cried,  inlov/ 
but  emphatic  accents.  "  It  is  worthless,  but  you  will 
fight  for  it." 


40  THE    PARTISAN. 

The  other  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  admiration 
sobered  into  calm. 

"  Your  life  is  in  my  hands,  but  it  is  safe.  God  for- 
bid, Master  Davis,"  said  he,  with  solemnity,  "  God 
forbid  that  I  should  assail  it.  I  am  your  friend,  your 
countryman,  and  I  rejoice  in  what  you  have  done.  You 
have  done  well  and  nobly  in  destroying  that  evidence 
of  your  dishonour ;  for  it  is  dishonour  to  barter  one's 
country  and  its  liberties  for  dastardly  security — for 
one's  miserable  life.  You  have  done  well ;  but  be  noC 
rash.  Your  movement  must  be  in  quiet.  Nothing  rash, 
nothing  precipitate.  Every  step  you  now  take  must 
be  one  of  caution,  for  your  path  is  along  the  steeps  of 
danger.  But  come  with  me — you  shall  know  more. 
First  secure  those  scraps  ;  they  may  tell  tales  upon 
you ;  a  quick  hand  and  close  eye  may  put  them  toge- 
ther, and  then  your  neck  would  be  fit  game  for  the 
halter  yon  sergeant  warned  you  of.  But  what  now— 
what  are  the  troops  about  1" 

The  countryman  looked,  at  his  companion's  question, 
and  beheld  the  troops  forming  in  the  market-place, 
while  the  note  of  the  bugle  at  intervals,  and  an  occa- 
sional sullen  tap  of  the  drum,  gathered  the  crowd  of 
the  village  around  them. 

"  It's  a  proclamation,  squire.  That's  the  market- 
place, where  they  read  it  first.  They  give  us  one 
every  two  or  three  days,  sometimes  about  one  thing, 
sometimes  another.  If  the  cattle's  killed  by  the  whigs, 
though  it  may  be  their  own,  there's  a  proclamation  ;*  but 
we  don't  mind  them  much,  for  they  only  tell  us  to  be 
quiet  and  orderly,  and.  Heaven  knows,  we  can't  be  more 
so.  They  will  next  go  to  the  church,  where  they  will 
again  read  it.  That's  nigher,  and  we  can  get  round  in 
time  to  hear  what  it  is.  Shall  we  go,  squire  ?"  The 
other  expressed  bis  willingness,  and  leaving  the  bridge, 
they  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  the  crowd. 

*  We  have  two  or  three  grave  proclamations  of  this  sort  on  record^ 
issued  by  the  British  generals  in  Carolina. 


THE    PARTISAN.  41 


CHAPTER  IV. 

" Keep  thy  counsel  well. 

And  fear  not.    We  shall  mate  with  them  in  time. 
And  spoil  them  who  would  strike  us.    We  are  free, 
And  confidently  strong — have  arms  and  men — 
Good  fellows  in  the  wood,  that  will  not  fly 
When  blows  are  to  be  borne." 

Bv  a  short  path  the  stranger  and  his  companion 
moved  from  the  bridge  to  the  place  of  gathering.  It 
was  not  long  before  they  found  themselves  in  the  thick 
of  the  crowd,  upon  the  green  plot  in  front  of  the  church, 
from  the  portals  of  which  the  heavy  roll  of  the  drum 
commanded  due  attention  from  the  populace.  The 
proclamation  which  the  commander  of  the  garrison  at 
Dorchester  now  proceeded  to  read  to  the  multitude, 
was  of  no  small  importance.  Its  contents  were  well 
calculated  to  astound  and  terrify  the  Carolinians  who 
heard  it.  It  was  one  of  the  many  movements  of  the 
British  commander,  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  roy- 
alty in  that  region,  which,  more  than  any  thing  besides, 
contributed  to  arouse  and  irritate  that  spirit  of  resist- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  invaded  people,  which  it  should 
have  been  the  studious  policy  of  the  invaders  to  mollify 
and  suppress.  The  document  in  question  had  been 
just  issued  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  declaring  all  paroles 
or  protections  granted  hitherto  to  be  null  and  void,  and 
requiring  the  holders  of  them,  within  twenty  days,  to 
resume  the  character  of  British  subjects — taking  up 
arms  in  the  promotion  of  his  majesty's  cause,  against 
their  brethren,  under  pain  of  being  treated  as  rebels  to 
his  government.  The  motive  of  Sir  Henry  for  a 
movement  so  exceedingly  injudicious,  may  be  only 
conjectured  from  the  concurrent  circumstances  of  the 
time.  The  continental  army,  under  De  Kalb,  was  on 
its  way  to  the  South — Gates  had  been  ordered  to  com- 
D2 


42  THE    PARTISAN". 

mand  it — and  this  intelligence,  though  not  generally 
known  to  the  people  of  Carolina,  could  not  long  be 
withheld  from  their  possession.  It  was  necessary  to 
keep  them  from  any  co-operation  with  their  approach- 
ing friends  ;  and  no  more  effectual  mode,  simply  con- 
sidered by  itself,  could  have  been  suggested  to  the 
mind  of  the  Briton  than  their  employment  under  his 
own  banners.  This  apart,  the  invasion  of  the  adjoining 
states  of  Virginia  and  North  Carolina  had  been  long 
since  determined  upon,  and  was  now  to  be  attempted. 
Troops  were  wanted  for  this  purpose,  and  no  policy 
seemed  better  than  to  expend  one  set  of  rebels  upon 
another.  It  was  also  necessary  to  secure  the  conquered 
province  ;  and  the  terrors  of  the  hangman  were  provi- 
dently held  out,  in  order  to  impel  the  conquered  to  the 
minor  risks  of  the  bayonet  and  shot.  The  error  was 
a  fatal  one.  From  that  hour  the  declension  of  British 
power  was  precipitately  hurried  in  Carolina ;  the  people 
lost  all  confidence  in  those  who  had  already  so  grossly 
deceived  them ;  for  the  condition  of  the  protection  or 
parole  called  for  no  military  service  from  the  citizen 
who  took  it.  He  was  simply  to  be  neutral  in  the  con- 
test ;  and  however  unworthy  may  have  been  the  spirit 
consenting  even  to  this  condition,  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  a  foul  deception  had  been  practised  upon  them.. 
The  consequences  were  inevitable  ;  and  the  determined 
hostility  of  the  foe  was  coupled,  on  the  part  of  the 
Carolinians,  with  a  wholesale  scorn  of  the  want  of 
probity  manifested  by  the  enemy  they  were  now  not 
so  unwilling  to  encounter. 

From  the  church-porch  the  proclamation  was  again 
read  to  the  assembled  multitude.  The  crowd  was 
variously  composed,  and  various  indeed  was  the  effect 
which  it  produced  among  them.  The  stranger  and  his 
companion,  at  a  little  distance,  listened  closely  to  the 
words  of  the  instrument ;  and  a  smile  of  joy,  not  un- 
marked by  Davis,  played  over  the  features  of  the 
former  as  he  heard  it  read.  The  latter  looked  his  indig- 
nation :  he  could  not  understand  why  such  a  paper 
should  give  pleasure  to  his  comrade,  and  could  not 


THE    PARTISAN.  43 

forbear,  in  a  whisper,  demanding  the  occasion  of  his 

satisfaction. 

"  It  pleases  you,  squire  1  I  see  you  smile  !" 
'It  does  please  me — much,  very  much,"  responded 
the  other,  quickly,  and  with  emphasis,  but  in  a  whisper 
also. 

"  What !"  with  more  earnestness,  said  the  country- 
man— "  what !  does  it  please  you  to  listen  to  such 
viUany  as  this  ?     I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Not  so  loud,  comrade  ;  you  have  a  neck,  and  these 
fellows  a  rope :  besides,  there's  one  to  the  left  of  us 
whose  looks  I  like  not." 

The  other  turned  in  the  direction  signified,  and  saw 
the  propriety  of  his  companion's  caution,  as  he  beheld 
within  a  few  feet  the  harsh  features  of  the  notorious 
Captain  Huck,  a  furious  and  bloody  tory-leader,  well 
known,  and  held  in  odious  estimation,  throughout  the 
neighbourhood.  The  stranger  went  on,  still  whis- 
pering— 

"  Look  pleased,  friend  Davis,  if  you  can :  this  is 
no  time  to  show  any  but  false  colours  to  the  enemy. 
I  am  pleased,  really,  as  you  think,  and  have  my  reason 
for  being  so,  which  you  shall  know  in  good  time.  Take 
breath,  and  listen." 

The  paper  was  finished,  and  the  detachment  moved 
on  its  way  to  the  "  George  Tavern,"  the  crowd  generally 
following  ;  and  there  it  was  again  read.  Our  two  friends 
kept  together,  and  proceeded  with  the  multitude.  The 
stranger  was  eminently  watchful  and  observant :  he 
noted  well  the  sentiment  of  indignation  which  all  faces 
manifested ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that  expres- 
sion. The  sober  farmer,  the  thoughtless  and  gay- 
hearted  planter  of  the  neighbourhood,  the  drudge,  the 
mechanic,  the  petty  chapman — all  had  in  their  looks 
that  severe  soberness  which  showed  a  thought  and 
spirit,  active,  and  more  to  be  respected,  as  they  were 
kept  so  well  restrained. 

"  God  save  the  king !"  cried  the  ofiicer,  as  he  con- 
cluded the  instrument,  from  the  steps  of  the  tavern. 

"  Ay,  God  save  the  king,  and  God  bless  him,  too !" 


44  THE    PARTISAN. 

cried  old  Humphries,  at  the  entrance.  A  few  only  of 
the  crowd  gave  back  the  cry,  and  even  with  them  the 
prayer  was  coldly  uttered  ;  and  there  was  nothing  like 
that  spirit  which,  when  the  heart  goes  with  the  decree 
of  the  ruler,  makes  the  welkin  ring  with  its  unregulated 
rejoicings. 

"  You  are  silent :  you  do  not  cry  with  the  rest,"  said 
one  at  the  elbow  of  the  stranger.  He  turned  to  behold 
the  features  of  the  tory-captain,  of  whom  we  have 
already  spoken,  who  now,  with  a  scrutinizing  glance, 
placed  himself  close  beside  the  person  he  had  ad- 
dressed. The  mean  cunning — the  low,  searching  ex- 
pression of  his  look — Avere  eminently  disgusting  to  the 
youth,  who  replied,  while  resuming  his  old  position — 

"  What  1  God  save  the  king  ?  Did  I  not  say  it  ?  It's 
very  natural ;  for  I'm  so  used  to  it.  I'm  quite  wilHng 
that  God  should  save  his  majesty — God  knows  he 
needs  it." 

This  was  said  with  a  very  devout  countenance,  and 
the  expression  was  so  composed  and  quiet,  that  the 
tory  could  say  nothing,  though  still  not  satisfied,  seem- 
ingly, with  much  that  was  in  the  language.  It  sounded 
very  like  a  sneer,  and  yet,  strictly  speaking,  it  was 
perfectly  unexceptionable.  Baffled  in  this  quarter,  the 
loyalist,  who  was  particularly  desirous  of  establishing 
his  own  claims  to  British  favour,  now  turned  with  a 
similar  inquiry  to  Davis ;  but  the  countryman  was 
ready,  and  a  nudge  in  the  side  from  his  companion, 
had  any  thing  been  wanting,  moved  him  to  a  similar 
answer.  Huck  was  not  exactly  prepared  to  meet  with 
so  much  willingness  on  the  part  of  two  persons  whose 
movements  he  had  suspected,  and  had  been  watching ; 
but  concluding  them  now  to  be  well-affected,  he  did  not 
scruple  to  propose  to  them  to  become  members  of  the 
troop  of  horse  he  was  engaged  in  raising.  To  the 
stranger  he  first  addressed  himself,  complimenting  him 
upon  his  fine  limbs  and  figure,  and  insisting  upon  the 
excellent  appearance  he  would  make,  well-mounted  and 
in  British  uniform.  A  smile  of  sovereign  contempt 
overspread  the  youth's  features  as  he  listened  to  the 


THE    PARTISAN.  45 

tory  patiently  to  the  end.     Calmly,  then,  he  begged 
permission  to  decline  the  proposed  honour. 

"  Why,  you  are  loyal,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  seeming  to 
doubt. 

"  Who  denies  it  ?"  fiercely  replied  the  stranger. 

"  Oh,  nobody ;  I  mean  nof  to  offend :  but,  as  a 
loyal  subject,  you  can  scarce  withhold  yourself  from 
service." 

"  I  do  not  contemplate  to  do  so,  sir." 
•And  why  not  join  my  troop?     Come,  now,  you 
shall  have  a  lieutenancy  ;  for,  blast  me,  but  I  like  your 
looks,  and  would  be  devilish  glad  to  have  you.     You 
can't  refuse." 

"But  I  dp,"  said  the  other,  calmly — almost  con- 
temptuously. 

"  And  wherefore  ?"  Huck  inquired,  with  some  show 
of  pique  in  his  countenance  and  manner — "  wherefore  1 
What  better  service?  and,  to  a  soldier  of  fortune,  let 
me  ask  you,  what  better  chances  than  now  of  making 
every  thing  out  of  these  d — d  rebels,  Avho  have  gone 
into  the  swamps,  leaving  large  estates  for  confiscation  t 
What  better  business  ?" 

"  None  :  I  fully  agree  with  you." 

"  And  ysu  will  join  my  troop  V' 

"  No !" 

The  man  looked  astonished.  The  coolness  and 
composure  with  which  the  denial  was  made  surprising 
him  not  less  than  the  denial  itself.  With  a  look  of 
doubt  and  wonderment,  he  went  on — 

"  Well,  you  know  best ;  but,  of  course,  as  a  good 
citizen,  you  will  soon  be  in  arms :  twenty  days,  you 
know,  are  all  that's  allowed  you." 

"  I  do  not  need  so  many  :  as  a  good  citizen,  I  shall 
be  in  arms  in  less  time."  ' 

"  In  whose  troop  ? — where  ?" 

'Ah,  now  we  come  to  the  point,"  was  the  sudden 
reply  ;  "  and  you  will  now  see  why  I  have  been  able 
to  withstand  the  tempting  offers  you  have  made  me.  I 
am  thinking  to  form  a  troop  of  my  own,  and  should  I 
do  so,  I  certainly  should  not  wish  so  much  success  to 
yours  as  to  fall  into  your  ranks." 


46  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Indeed !  Well,  rm  glad,  any  how,  that  his  majesty 
is  likely  to  be  so  well  served  with  officers.  Have  you 
yet  applied  for  a  commission  to  the  commandant  ?" 

"  No  ;  nor  shall  I,  till  my  recruits  are  strong  enough 
to  make  my  appearance  respectable." 

"That's  right!  I  know  that  by  experience.  They 
never  like  you  half  so  well  as  when  you  bring  your 
men  with  you :  they  don't  want  officers  so  much  as 
men ;  and  some  of  the  commands,  if  they  can  chouse 
you  out  of  your  recruits,  will  not  stop  to  do  so  ;  and 
then  you  may  whistle  for  your  commission.  I  sup- 
pose your  friend,  here,  is  already  secured  for  your 
squad  ?" 

The  tory  referred  to  Davis,  who  did  not  leave  his 
companion  to  reply  ;  but,  without  scruple,  avowed  him- 
self as  having  already  been  partially  secured  for  the 
opposition  troop. 

"  Well,  good  luck  to  you.  But  I  say,  comrade,  you 
have  commanded  before — of  course,  you  are  prepared 
to  lead  ?" 

"  I  have  the  heart  for  it,"  was  the  reply ;  and  as  the 
stranger  spoke,  he  extended  his  arms  towards  the  tory 
captain,  while  elevating  his  figure  to  its  fullest  height ; 
"  and  you  can  say  yourself  for  the  limbs.  As  for  the 
head,  it  must  be  seen  if  mine's  good  for  any  thing." 

"  I  doubt  it  not ;  and  service  comes  easy  after  a 
brush  or  two.  But  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  the 
colonel  ?" 

"  Who  ? — Proctor — the  colonel  in  command  here  ?" 

"  The  same." 

"  In  time,  I'll  trouble  you,  perhaps,  to  help  me  to 
that  knowledge.     Not  yet ;  not  till  I  get  my  recruits." 

"  You  are  right  in  that ;  and,  talking  of  the  recruits, 
I  must  see  ^fter  mine  ;  and,  so,  a  good-evening  to  you, 
and  success.  We  shall  meet  again,"  The  tory  moved 
among  the  separate  groups  as  he  spoke,  and  the  stranger 
turned  to  Davis,  while  he  muttered — 

"  Ay,  we  shall  meet  again.  Master  Iluck,  or  it  will 
be  no  fault  of  mine.  If  we  do  not.  Old  Nick  takes 
marvellous  care  of  his  own.  But,  ha  !  comrade,  keep 
you  here  awhile  :  there  is  one  that  I  would  speak  with." 


THE    PARTISAN.  47 

At  a  little  distance  apart,  at  one  wing  of  the 
tavern,  stood  a  man,  attired  in  the  blue  homespun 
common  to  the  country  wear,  among  the  humbler 
classes ;  and  with  nothing  particular  to  distinguish 
him,  if  we  may  except  a  face  somewhat  more  round 
and  rosy  than  belongs  usually  to  the  people  dwelling  in 
Dorchester  and  its  neighbourhood.  He  was  like  them 
in  one  respect — having  a  sidelong,  indirect  movement, 
coupled  with  a  sluggish,  lounging,  indifferent  gait, 
which  is  the  general  feature  of  this  people,  unless 
when  roused  by  insult  or  provocation.  In  his  hand  he 
carried  a  whip  of  common  leather,  which  he  smacked 
occasionally,  either  for  the  sharp,  shot-like  sounds 
which  it  sent  forth,  or  when  he  desired  to  send  to  a 
greater  distance  that  most  grumbling  of  all  aristocrats, 
the  hog,  as  it  approached  him.  The  quick  eye  of  the 
stranger  had  singled  out  this  personage  ;  and,  leaving 
Davis  where  he  stood,  and  moving  quickly  through 
the  straggling  groups  that  still  clustered  in  front  of  the 
tavern,  he  at  once  approached  him  confidently  as  an 
old  acquaintance.  The  other  seemed  not  to  observe 
his  coming,  until  our  first  acquaintance,  speaking  as  he 
advanced,  caught  his  notice.  This  had  no  sooner  been 
done,  than  the  other  was  in  motion.  Throwing  aside 
his  sluggishness  of  look,  he  recognised  by  a  glance  the 
stranger  youth,  and  his  head  was  bent  forward  to  listen, 
as  he  saw  that  he  was  about  to  speak.  The  words  of 
our  old  acquaintance  were  few,  but  significant  — 

"  I  am  here  before  you — say  nothing — lead  on,  and 
I  will  follow." 

Withanod^^e  person  addressed  looked  but  once 
at  the  speaker  ;  then,  without  a  word,  moving  from  his 
easy  position  against  the  tavern,  and  throwing  aside  all 
show  of  sluggishness,  he  led  the  way  for  the  stranger  ; 
and,  taking  an  oblique  path,  which  carried  them  in  a 
short  time  into  the  neighbouring  woods,  they  soon  left 
the  village  behind  them.  Davis  had  been  reluctant 
to  separate  from  the  companion  to  whom  he  had  so 
readily  yielded  his  confidence.  He  had  his  doubts — 
as  who  could  be  without  them  in  that  season  of  general 


48  THE    PARTISAN. 

distrust  ? — but  when  he  remembered  the  warm,  manly 
frankness  of  the  stranger — his  free,  bold,  generous,  and 
gentle  countenance — ^he  did  not  suffer  himself  to  doubt 
for  a  moment  more  that  his  secret  would  be  safe  in  his 
possession.  This,  indeed,  was  the  least  of  his  diffi- 
culties. The  fair  coquette  of  the  inn  had  attracted 
him  strongly,  and,  with  a  heavy  heart,  he  turned  into  the 
"  Royal  George ;"  and,  throwing  his  form  at  length 
upon  a  bench,  he  solaced  himself  with  an  occasional 
glance  at  Bella  Humphries,  whose  duties  carried  her 
to  and  fro  between  the  bar  and  the  sitting-room ;  and 
with  thoughts  of  that  vengeance  upon  his  enemy 
which  his  new  position  with  the  stranger  seemed  to 
promise  him. 

Meanwhile,  following  the  steps  of  the  individual  he 
had  so  singled  out,  the  latter  kept  on  his  way  until  the 
village  had  been  fairly  passed  ;  then,  plunging  down  a 
little  by-path,  into  which  the  former  had  gone,  he  soon 
overtook  him,  and  they  moved  on  closely  together  in 
their  common  progress.  The  guide  was  a  stout  able- 
bodied  person,  of  thirty  years,  or  perhaps  more — 
a  rough-looking  man,  one  seemingly  born  and  bred 
entirely  in  the  humble  life  of  the  country.  He  was 
powerful  in  physical  development,  rather  stout  than 
high,  with  a  short,  thick  neck — a  head  round  and  large, 
with  eyes  small,  settled,  and  piercing — and  features 
even  solemn  in  their  general  expression  of  severity. 
He  carried  no  visible  weapons,  but  he  seemed  the  man 
to  use  them ;  for  no  one  who  looked  in  his  face  could 
doubt  that  he  was  full  of  settled  purpose,  firm  in  his 
resolve,  and  reckless,  having  once  delihnined,  in  the 
prosecution  of  the  most  desperate  enterprise. 

The  way  they  were  pursuing  grew  more  and  more 
tangled  as  they  went,  gradually  sinking  in  level,  until 
the  footing  became  slightly  insecure,  and  at  length 
terminated  in  the  soft  oozy  swamp  surface  common  to 
the  margin  of  most  rivers  in  the  low  country  of  the 
south.  They  were  now  close  on  the  banks  of  the 
Ashley,  which  wound  its  way,  perceptible  to  the  two 
in  occasional  glimpses,  through  the  close-set  foliage 
by  which  they  were  surrounded.     A  few  more  strides 


THE    PARTISAN.  49 

thfough  the  copse  and  over  the  miry  surface,  brought 
them  again  to  a  dry  elevation,  isolated  by  small  sluices 
of  w^ater,  and  more  closely  wrapped  in  brush  and  cover- 
ing. Here  their  progress  was  arrested,  for  they  were 
now  perfectly  secure  from  interruption.  In  all  this  time, 
no  word  had  been  exchanged  between  the  parties  ;  but 
the  necessity  for  farther  caution  being  now  over,  they 
came  to  a  pause,  and  the  silence  was  broken  as  follows 
by  our  last-made  acquaintance  : — 

"  We  are  safe  here,  Major  Singleton,  and  can  now 
speak  freely.  The  sharpest  scout  in  the  British  gar- 
rison could  not  well  come  upon  ns  without  warning, 
and  if  he  did,  would  do  so  by  accident." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I'm  heartily  tired,  and  not  a  little 
impatient  to  talk  with  you.     But  let  us  be  at  ease." 

They  threw  themselves  upon  the  ground — our  elder 
acquaintance,  whom  we  now  know  as  iMajor  Singleton, 
with  an  air  of  superiority  which  seemed  familiar,  choos- 
ing the  most  favourable  spot,  while  the  other  remained 
standing  until  his  companion  had  adjusted  himself; 
and  then  took  his  seat  respectfully  on  the  ridgy  roots 
of  the  pine-tree  spreading  over  them. 

"  And  now,  Humphries,"  said  Singleton,  "  what  of 
my  sister — is  she  safe,  and  how  did  she  bear  the 
journey  ?" 

"  Safe,  major,  and  well  as  could  be  expected,  though 
very  feeble.  We  had  some  trouble  crossing  the  San- 
tee,  but  it  did  not  keep  us  long,  and  we  got  on  tolerably 
well  after.  The  whole  party  are  now  safe  at  '  The 
Oaks.'"  ^      . 

"  Well,  you  must  guide  me  there  to-night,  if  possible ; 
I  know  nothing  of  the  place,  and  but  little  of  the  coun- 
try.    Years  have  passed  since  I  last  went  over  it." 

• "  What !  have  you  never  been  at  '  The  Oaks,'  major  ? 
I  was  told  you  had." 

"  Yes,  when  a  boy  ;  but  I  have  no  distinct  memory 
on  the  subject,  except  of  the  noble  trees,  the  thick 
white  moss,  and  the  dreamy  quiet  of  all  things  around. 
The  place,  I  know,  is  beautiful." 

"  You  may  well  say  so,  major ;  a  finer  don't  happen 
Vol.  I.— E 


50  THE    PARTISAN. 

often  in  the  low  country,  and  the  look  at  it  from  the 
river  is  well  worth  a  journey." 

"  Ah  !  I  have  never  seen  it  from  that  quarter.  But 
you  said  my  uncle  was  well,  and" — here  the  voice  fal- 
tered a  little — "  and  my  cousin  Katharine — They  are 
all  well  ?" 

"  All  well,  sir.  The  old  squire  is  rather  down  in 
the  mouth,  you  see,  for  he's  taken  a  protection,  and  he 
can't  help  seeing  the  troubles  of  the  county.  It's  this 
that  makes  his  trouble  ;  and  though  he  used,  of  old  time, 
to  be  a  dashing,  hearty,  lively,  talkative  gentleman, 
always  pleasant  and  good-humoured,  yet  now  he  says 
nothing ;  and  if  he  happens  to  smile  at  all,  he  catches 
himself  up  a  minute  after,  and  looks  mighty  sorry  for 
it.  Ah,  major,  these  cursed  protections — they've  made 
many  a  good  heart  sore  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  the 
worst  is  to  come  yet,  or  I'm  mistaken." 

"  A  sore  subject,  Humphries,  and  not  very  necessary 
to  speak  on.  But  what  news — what  stirring,  and  how 
get  on  our  recruits  ?" 

"  Slowly  enough,  major ;  but  that  is  to  be  expected 
while  the  country  is  overrun  with  the  red-coats.  The 
folks  are  afraid  to  move,  and  our  poor  swamp-boys 
can't  put  their  noses  out  yet — not  until  the  enemy  turns 
his  back  on  them  for  a  while,  and  gives  them  chance 
for  a  little  skirmish,  without  the  risk  of  the  rope.  But 
things  would  change,  I'm  certain,  if  the  great  general 
you  spoke  of,  with  the  continentals,  would  only  come 
south.     Our  people  only  want  an  opportunity." 

"  And  they  shall  have  it.  But  what  intelligence  here 
from  the  city  ?" 

"  None,  sir,  or  little.     You  heard  tlie  proclamation  ?" 

"  Yes,  witli  joy — with  positive  delight.  The  move- 
ment is  a  grand  one  for  our  cause :  it  must  bring  out 
the  ground-rats — those  who  skulked  for  safety  into  con- 
tracts, measuring  honour  by  acres,  and  counting  their 
duty  to  their  country  by  the  value  of  their  crops." 

"  True — I  see  that,  major,  but  that's  the  thing  I 
dread.     Why  should  you  desire  to  bring  them  out  ?" 

"Why,  because,  though  with  us  in  spirit  and  senti- 


THE    PARTISAN,  51 

ment,  they  yet  thought  to  avoid  danger,  while  they 
believed  themselves  unable  to  serve  us  by  their  risk. 
Now,  forced  into  the  field — compelled  to  fight — is  it 
not  clear  that  the  argument  is  all  in  favour  of  our  side  1 
Will  they  not  rather  fight  in  conformity  with  their  feel- 
ings and  opinions  than  against  them  1  particularly  when 
the  latter  course  must  place  them  in  arms  against  their 
friends  and  neighbours — not  to  speak  of  their  country- 
men— in  many  instances  to  their  relatives,  and  the 
members  of  their  own  families.  By  forcing  into  the 
field  those  who  were  quiet  before,  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
has  forced  hundreds  into  our  ranks,  who  will  be  as 
slow  to  lay  down  their  weapons  as  they  were  to  take 
them  up." 

"  I  hope  so,  major  ;  but  I  fear  that  many  will  rather 
strike  for  what  seems  the  strongest,  and  not  ask  many 
questions  as  to  which  is  the  justest  side." 

"  No — this  I  fear  not.  The  class  of  people  on  which 
I  rely  are  too  proud  to  suffer  this  imposition,  and  too 
spirited  not  to  resist  the  indignity  which  it  puts  upon 
them.  They  must  be  roused  by  the  trick  which  has 
been  practised,  and  will  shake  off  their  sleep.  Let  us 
hope  for  it,  at  least." 

"  I  am  willing,  sir,  but  fear  it.  They  have  quite  too 
much  at  stake :  they  have  too  much  plate,  too  many 
negroes,  and  live  too  comfortably  to  be  willing  to  stand 
a  chance  of  losing  all  by  taking  up  arms  against  the 
British,  who  are  squat  close  alongside  of  them." 

"  So  should  I  fear  with  you,  Humphries,  and  for  like 
reasons,  if  the  protections  protected  them.  I  doubt  not 
that  they  would  be  willing  to  keep  quiet,  and  take  no 
part  in  this  struggle,  if  the  conquerors  were  wise  enough 
to  let  them  alone  ;  but  they  kick  and  cuff  them  on  all 
occasions,  and  patriots  are  frequently  made  by  kicking. 
I  care  not  for  the  process,  so  it  gives  us  the  commodity. 
Let  them  kick  on,  and  may  they  get  extra  legs  for  the 
purpose  !" 

"  Amen,"  said  Humphries,  gravely.  Then  changing 
the  topic  somewhat,  he  asked  him — 

"  You  were  with  Jack  Davis,  of  Goose  Creek,  major, 


52  THE    PARTISAN. 

when  you  first  came  up— I  thought  you  were  unknown 
in  these  parts  ?" 

"  You  thought  rightly ;  I  am  still  unknown,  but  I 
learned  to  know  something  of  him  you  speak  of,  and 
circumstances  threw  us  together."  Here  Singleton 
related  the  occurrences  at  the  tavern,  as  already  known 
to  us.  Humphries,  who  was  the  son  of  the  landlord, 
gave  close  attention,  and  with  something  more  than 
ordinary  interest.  He  was  not  at  any  time  a  man  to 
show  his  feelings  openly,  but  there  was  an  increased 
pressure  of  his  lips  together  as  that  portion  fell  upon 
his  ear  which  described  the  interference  of  his  sister, 
the  fair  coquette  Bella,  for  the  protection  of  her  cast- 
off  lover.  His  breathing  was  far  less  free  at  this 
point  of  the  narrative  ;  and  when  Singleton  concluded, 
the  listener  muttered,  partly  in  soliloquy  and  partly  in 
reply— 

"  A  poor  fool  of  a  girl,  that  sister  of  mine,  major ; 
loves  the  fine  colours  of  the  jay  in  spite  of  his  cursed 
squalling,  and  has  played  upon  that  good  fellow,  Davis 
' — Prickly  Ash,  as  we  sometimes  call  him  in  the  vil- 
lage— till  he's  half  out  of  his  wits.  Her  head,  too,  is 
half  turned  with  that  red  coat ;  but  I'll  cure  her  of  that, 
and  cure  him  too,  or  there's  no  virtue  in  twisted  bore. 
But,  major,  did  you  do  any  thing  with  Davis  V 

The  answer  was  affirmative,  and  Humphries  con- 
tinued— 

"  That's  a  gain,  sir  ;  for  Davis  is  true,  if  he  says  it, 
and  comes  of  good  breed :  he'll  fight  like  a  bull-dog, 
and  his  teeth  shall  meet  in  the  flesh.  Besides,  he's  a 
great  shot  with  the  rifle,  like  most  of  the  boys  from 
Goose  Creek.  His  old  mother  kept  him  back,  or  he'd 
a-joined  us  long  ago,  for  I've  seen  how  his  thoughts 
run.  But  it's  not  too  late,  and  if  the  word's  once  out 
of  his  mouth,  he's  to  be  depended  on — he's  safe." 

"  A  few  more  will  do.  You  have  several  others, 
have  you  not,  gathering  in. a  safe  place!"  said  Sin- 
gleton. 

"  In  the  swamp — thirteen,  true  as  steel,  and  ready 
for  fight.     They're  only  some  six  miles  off,  and  can 


THE    PARTISAN.  53 

be  brought  up  in  two  hours,  at  notice.  See,  this  river 
comes  from  the  heart  of  the  Cypress  Swamp,  where 
they  sheker ;  and  if  there  be  no  tory  among  us  to  show 
them  the  track,  I  defy  all  Proctor's  garrison  to  find  us 
out." 

"  We  must  be  among  them  to-morrow.  But  the  even- 
ing wears,  and  the  breeze  freshens  up  from  the  river : 
it  is  sweet  and  fresh  from  the  sea — and  how  different, 
too,  from  that  of  the  forests !  But  come — I  must  go 
back,  and  have  my  horse  in  readiness  for  this  ride  to 
*  The  Oaks,'  where  you  must  attend  me." 

"  Your  horse !  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  the  other, 
quickly. 

"  In  your  father's  stable." 

"  He  must  not  be  suffered  to  stay  there  ;  if  he  is, 
you  will  not  have  him  long.  We  must  hide  him  out, 
or  that  black-hearted  tory,  Huck,  will  be  on  his  quarters 
before  three  days  :  he's  beating  about  the  country  now 
for  horses  as  well  as  men." 

"  See  to  it,  then,  for  1  must  run  no  such  risk.  Let 
us  return  at  once,"  said  Singleton. 

"  Yes ;  but  we  take  different  roads :  we  must  not 
know  each  other.  Can  you  find  the  way  back  alone, 
major  V 

"  Yes — I  doubt  not." 

"  To  the  left  now — round  that  water  ;  keep  straight 
up  from  the  river  for  a  hundred  yards,  and  you  fall  into 
the  track.  Your  horse  shall  be  ready  in  an  hour,  and 
I  will  meet  you  at  supper." 

They  parted — Singleton  on  his  Avay  as  directed,  and 
Humphries  burying  himself  still  deeper  in  the  copse. 
E2 


54  THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  It  needs  but  to  be  bold — ^be  bold — be  bold — 
Everywhere  bold.    'Tis  every  virtue  told ; 
Courage  and  truth,  humanity  and  skill, 
The  noblest  cunning  that  the  mind  can  will, 
And  the  best  charity." 

It  was  not  long  before  Singleton  reached  the  tav- 
ern, which  he  now  found  crowded.  The  villagers  of 
all  conditions  and  politics  had  there  assembled,  either 
to  mutter  over  their  doubts  or  discontents,  or  to  gather 
counsel  for  their  course  in  future,  from  the  many,  wiser 
than  themselves,  in  their  own  predicament.  There, 
also,  came  the  true  loyalist,  certain  to  lind  deference 
and  favour  from  the  many  around  him,  not  so  happy  or 
so  secure  as  himself  in  the  confidence  of  the  existing 
powers.  The  group  was  motley  enough,  and  the  moods 
at  work  among  them  not  less  so.  Some  had  already 
determined  upon  submission, — some  of  the  weak — the 
time-serving — such  as  every  old  community  will  be 
found  to  furnish,  where  indolent  habits,  which  have  be- 
come inveterate,  forbid  all  sort  of  independence.  Some 
fluctuated,  and  knew  not  what  to  do,  or  even  what  to 
think.  But  there  were  others.  Singleton  imagined, 
as  he  looked  into  their  grave,  sullen  features,  full  of 
thought  and  pregnant  with  determination,  who  felt  no- 
thing so  strongly  as  the  sense  of  injustice,  and  the  rebel- 
daring  which  calls  for  defiance  at  every  hazard.  "  Ven- 
geance !  my  men !"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as,  passing 
full  into  the  apartment,  he  became  at  once  visible  to 
the  group.  The  old  landlord  himself  was  the  first  per- 
son who  confronted  him  after  that  familiar  fashion  which 
had  already  had  its  rebuke  from  the  same  quarter. 

•'  Ah,  captain  !  (the  brow  of  Singleton  darkened)— 
squire  I  mean — I  ask  pardon,  squire  ;  but  here,  where 


THE    PARTISAN.  55 

every  man  is  a  captain,  or  a  colonel,  or  something,  it 
comes  easy  to  say  so  to  all,  and  is  not  often  amiss.  No 
offence,  squire — it's  use,  only,  and  I  mean  no  harm." 

"  Enough,  enough  !  good  Master  Landlord  !  Least 
said,  soonest  mended.    Shall  we  soon  have  supper  ?" 

The  ready  publican  turned  to  the  inner  door  of 
the  apartment  and  put  the  same  question  to  his  daugh- 
ter, the  fair  Bella ;  then,  without  waiting  for  her  reply, 
informed  the  inquirer  that  many  minutes  would  not 
elapse  before  it  would  be  on  table. 

"  Six  o'clock's  the  time  of  day  for  supper,  squire — 
six  for  supper — one  for  dinner — eight  for  breakfast — 
punctual  to  the  stroke,  and  no  waiting.  Heh  !  what's 
that  you  say,  Master  Dickenson  1 — what's  that  about 
Frampton  ?" 

Humphries  turned  to  one  of  the  villagers  whose  re- 
marks had  partially  met  his  ear,  and  who  had  just  en- 
tered the  apartment.  The  person  so  addressed  came 
forward;  a  thin-jawed,  sallow  countryman,  whose  eyes 
were  big  with  the  intelligence  he  brought,  and  who 
seemed  anxious  that  a  well-dressed  and  goodly-looking 
stranger  like  Singleton  should  have  the  benefit  of  his 
burden. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,  the  matter  with  Frampton's  strange 
enough.  You  all  know  he's  been  out  several  days,  close 
in  the  swamp.  He  had  a  fight,  stranger,  you  see,  with 
one  of  Huck's  dragoons  ;  and  he  licked  the  dragoon,  for 
all  the  world,  as  if  he'd  a  licked  him  out  of  his  skin. 
Now  the  dragoon's  a  strong  fellow  enough  ;  but  Framp- 
ton's a  horse,  and  if  ever  he  mounts  you  the  game  is 
up,  for  there's  no  stopping  him  when  he  gets  his  hand 
in.  So,  as  I  tell  you,  the  dragoon  stood  a  mighty  slim 
chance.  He  first  brought  him  down  with  a  backhanded 
wipe,  that  came  over  his  cheek  for  all  the  world  like 
the  slap  of  a  water-wheel — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  all  heard  that ;  but  what  was  it  all 
about,  Dickenson  1 — we  don't  know  that,  yet,"  cried 
one  of  the  group  which  had  now  formed  around  the 
speaker. 

"  Why,  that's  soon  told.    The  dragoon  went  to  Framp- 


56  THE    PARTISAN. 

ton's  house  when  he  was  in  the  swamp,  and  made  free 
with  what  he  wanted.  Big  Barney,  his  elder  son, 
went  off  in  the  mean  while  to  his  daddy,  and  off  he 
came  full  tilt,  with  Lance  his  youngest  lad  along  with  « 
him.  You  know  Lance,  or  Lancelot,  a  smart  chap  of 
sixteen  :  you've  seed  him  often  enough." 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  know  him." 

"  Well,  as  I  tell  you,  the  old  man  and  his  two  boys 
came  full  tilt  to  the  house,  and  'twas  a  God's  mercy 
they  came  in  time,  for  the  doings  of  the  dragoon  was 
too  ridiculous  for  any  decent  body  to  put  up  with, 
and  the  old  colt  could'nt  stand  it  no  how ;  so,  as  I  tell 
you,  he  put  it  to  him  in  short  order.  He  first  gave  him 
a  backhanded  v^^ipe,  which  flattened  him,  I  tell  you ; 
and  when  the  sodger  tried  to  get  up,  he  put  it  to  him 
again  so  that  it  was  easier  for  him  to  lie  down  than 
to  stand  up ;  and  lie  down  he  did,  without  a  word,  till 
the  other  dragoons  tuk  him  up.  They  came  a  few 
minutes  after,  and  the  old  man  and  the  youngest  boy 
Lance  had  a  narrow  chance  and  a  smart  run  for  it. 
They  heard  the  troops  coming  down  the  lane,  and  they 
took  to  the  bush.  The  sodgers  tried  hard  to  catch 
them,  but  it  aint  easy  to  hook  a  Goose-Creeker  when 
he's  on  trail  for  the  swamp,  and  splashing  after  the 
hogs  along  a  tussock.  So  they  got  safe  into  the  Cy- 
press, and  the  dragoons  had  nothing  better  to  do  than 
go  back  to  the  house.  Well,  they  made  Frampton's 
old  woman  stand  all  sorts  of  treatment,  and  that  too  bad 
to  find  names  for.  They  beat  her  too,  and  she  as 
heavy  as  she  could  go.  Well,  then,  she  died  night 
afore  last,  as  might  be  expected ;  and  now  the  wonder 
is,  what's  become  of  her  body.  They  laid  her  out ;  and 
the  old  granny  that  watched  her  only  went  into  the 
kitchen  for  a  little  while,  and  when  she  came  back  the 
body  was  gone.  She  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
sure  enough  she  sees  a  man  going  over  the  rail  with  a 
bundle  all  in  white  on  his  shoulder.  And  the  man 
looked,  so  she  swears,  for  all  the  world  like  old  Framp- 
ton  himself.  Nobody  knows  any  thing  more  about  it ; 
and  what  I  heard,  is  jist  now  what  I  tell  you  " 


THE    PARTISAN.  57 

The  man  had  narrated  truly  what  he  had  heard  ;  and 
■what,  in  reality,  with  little  exaggeration,  was  the  truth. 
The  company  had  listened  to  one  of  those  stories  of  bru- 
tality, which — in  the  fierce  civil  warfare  of  the  South, 
when  neighbours  were  arrayed  against  one  another,  and 
when,  on  one  side,  negroes  and  Indians  formed  allies, 
contributing,  by  their  lighter  sense  of  humanity,  addi- 
tional forms  of  terror  to  the  sanguinary  warfare  pursued  ' 
at  that  period — ^were  of  almost  daily  occurrence.  Huck, 
the  infamous  tory  captain,  of  whom  we  have  already 
obtained  a  slight  glimpse  in  the  progress  of  our  narra- 
tive, was  himself  of  a  character  well  fitted,  by  his  ha- 
bitual cunning  and  gross  want  of  all  the  softening  influ- 
ences of  humanity,  to  give  comitenance,  and  even  ex- 
ample, to  crimes  of  this  nature.  His  dragoons,  though 
few  as  yet  in  number,  and  employed  only  on  maraud- 
ing excursions  calling  for  small  parties,  had  already 
become  notorious  for  their  outrages  of  this  descrip- 
tion. Indeed,  they  found  impunity  in  this  circumstance. 
In  regular  warfare,  under  the  controlling  presence  of 
crowds,  the  responsibility  of  his  men,  apart  from  what 
they  owed  or  yielded  to  himself,  would  have  bound 
them  certainly  in  some  greater  restraints  ;  although,  to 
their  shame  be  it  said,  the  British  generals  in  the 
South,  when  mortified  by  defeat  and  vexed  by  unex- 
pected resistance,  were  themselves  not  always  more 
tenacious  of  propriety  than  the  tory  Huck.  The  san- 
guinary orders  of  Cornwallis,  commanding  the  cold- 
blooded execution  of  hundreds,  are  on  record,  in  melan- 
choly attestation  to  this  day  of  the  atrocities  committed 
by  the  one,  and  the  persecutions  borne  by  the  other 
party,  during  that  memorable  conflict. 

It  could  easily  be  seen  what  was  the  general  feeling 
during  this  recital,  and  yet  that  feeling  was  unspoken. 
Some  few  shook  their  heads  very  gravely,  and  a  few, 
more  daring  yet,  ventured  to  say,  that  "  it  was  very  bad, 
very  bad  indeed — very  shocking  !" 

"  What's  very  bad,  friends  ?  what  is  it  you  speak  of 
as  so  shocking  ?"  was  the  demand  of  one  just  entering. 
The  crowd  started  back,  and  Huck  himself  stood  among 


6»  THE    PARTISAN. 

them.  He  repeated  his  inquiry,  and  with  a  manner  that 
left  it  doubtful  whether  he  really  desired  to  know  what  ' 
had  been  the  subject  of  their  remarks,  or  whether,  hav- 
ing heard,  he  wished  to  compel  some  of  them  to  the 
honest  utterance  of  their  sentiments  upon  it.  Single- 
ton, who  had  listened  with  a  duly-excited  spirit  to  the 
narrative  of  the  countryman,  now  advanced  deliberately 
towards  the  new-comer,  whom  he  addressed  as  in  an- 
swer to  his  question — 

"  Why,  sir,  it  is  bad,  very  bad  indeed,  the  treatment 
received,  as  I  learn,  by  one  of  his  majesty's  dragoons,  at 
the  hands  of  some  impudent  rebel  a  few  nights  ago.  You 
know,  sir,  to  what  I  allude.  You  have  heard,  doubtless." 

The  bold,  confident  manner  of  the  speaker  was  suf- 
ficiently imposing  to  satisfy  all  around  of  his  loyalty. 
Huck  seemed  completely  surprised,  and  replied  freely 
and  with  confidence — 

"  Ay,  you  mean  the  affair  of  that  scoundrel,  Frampton. 
Yes,  I  know  all  about  it ;  but  we're  on  his  trail,  and  shall 
soon  make  him  sweat  for  his  audacity,  the  blasted  rebel." 

"  Do  5'^ou  know  that  his  wife  died?"  asked  one  of 
the  countrymen,  in  a  tone  subdued  to  one  of  simple 
and  inexpressive  inquiry. 

"  No — and  don't  care  very  greatly.  It's  a  bad  breed, 
and  the  misfortune  is,  there's  quite  too  many  of  them. 
But  we'll  thin  them  soon,  and  easily,  by  God  !  and  the 
land  shall  be  rid  of  the  reptiles." 

"  Yes,  captain,  we  think  alike,"  said  Singleton,  fa- 
miliarly— "  we  think  alike  on  that  subject.  Something 
must  be  done,  and  in  time,  or  there  will  be  no  com- 
fortable moving  for  a  loyalist,  whether  in  swamp 
or  highway.  They  have  it  in  their  power  to  do  mis- 
chief, if  not  taken  care  of  in  time.  It  is  certainly  our 
policy  to  prevent  our  men  from  being  ill-treated  by 
them,  and  to  do  this,  they  must  be  taken  in  hand  early. 
Rebellion  grows  like  nut-grass  when  it  once  takes  root, 
and  runs  faster  than  you  can  find  it.  It  should  be  seen  to." 

"  That  is  my  thought  already,  and  accordingly  I  have 
a  good  dog  on  trail  of  this  lark,  Frampton,  and  hope 
soon  to  have  him  in.     He  cannot  escape  Travis,  my 


THE    PARTISAN.  59 

lieutenant,  who  is  now  after  him,  and  who  knows  the 
swamp  as  well  as  himself.  They're  both  from  Goose 
Creek,  and  so  let  dog  eat  dog." 

"  You  have  sent  Travis  after  him,  then,  captain  ?" 
inquired  a  slow  and  deliberate  voice  at  Hack's  elbow. 
Singleton  turned  at  the  same  moment  with  the  person 
addressed,  recognising  in  the  speaker  his  own  lieuten- 
ant, the  younger  Humphries,  who  had  got  back  to  the 
tavern  almost  as  soon  as  himself.  Humphries,  of  whose 
Americanism  we  can  have  no  sort  of  question,  had  yet 
managed  adroitly,  and  what  with  his  own  cunning  and 
his  father's  established  loyalty,  he  was  enabled,  not  only 
to  pass  whhout  suspicion,  but  actually  to  impress  the 
tories  with  a  favourable  opinion  of  his  good  feeling  for 
the  British  cause.  This  was  one  of  those  artilices 
which  the  necessities  of  the  times  imposed  upon  most 
men,  and  for  which  they  gave  a  sufficient  moral  sanc- 
tion. 

"Ah,  Bill,  my  boy,"  saidHuck,  turning  as  to  an  old 
acquaintance,  "  is  that  you ! — why,  where  have  you 
been? — haven't  seen  you  for  an  age,  and  didn't  well 
know  what  had  become  of  you — thought  you  might 
have  gone  into  the  swamps  too  Aviththe  skulking  rebels." 

"  So  I  have,"  replied  the  other  calmly — •'  not  with 
the  rebels,  though.  I  see  none  of  them  to  go  with — but 
I  have  been  skirting  the  Cypress  for  some  time,  gather- 
ing what  pigs  the  alligators  Ifound  no  use  for.  Pigs  and 
poultry  are  the  rebels  I  look  after.  You  may  judge  of 
my  success  by  their  bawling." 

In  confirmation  of  what  Humphries  had  said,  at  that 
moment  the  collection  of  tied  pigs  with  which  his  cart 
had  been  piled,  and  the  tethered  chickens  undergoing 
transfer  to  a  more  fixed  dwelling,  and  tumbled  from  the 
mass  where  they  had  quietly  but  confusedly  lain  for 
an  hour  or  two  before,  sent  up  a  most  piteous  pleading, 
which,  for  the  time,  effectually  silenced  the  speakers 
within.  A  moment's  pause  obtained,  Humphries  re- 
verted, though  indirectly,  to  the  question  which  he  had 
put  to  the  tory  captain  touching  the  pursuit  of  Framp- 


60  THE    PARTISAN. 

ton  by  Travis ;  and,  without  exciting    his  suspicion 
by  a  positive  inquiry,  strove  to  obtain  information. 

"  Travis  will  find  Frampton  if  he  chooses, — he  knows 
the  swamp  quite  as  well — and  a  lean  dog  for  a  long 
chase,  you  know, — that  is,  if  you  have  given  him  men 
enough." 

"  I  gave  him  all  he  wanted  :  ten,  he  said,  would  an- 
swer :  he  could  have  had  more.  He'll  catch  him,  or 
I'm  mistaken." 

"  Yes,  if  he  strikes  a  good  route.  The  old  paths 
are  Avashed  now  by  the  freshet,  and  he  may  find  it  hard 
to  keep  track.  Now,  the  best  path  for  him  to  take, 
captain,  would  have  been  up  over  Terrapin  Bridge  by 
Turkey  Town.  That  will  bring  him  right  into  the  heart 
of  the  swamp,  where  it's  most  likely  Frampton  hides." 

"  Terrapin  Bridge — Turkey  Town,"  said  the  other, 
seeming  to  muse.  "  No,  he  said  nothing  of  these 
places  :  he  spoke  of — " 

"  Droze's  old  field,"  exclaimed  Humphries,  some- 
what eagerly. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  name  ;  he  goes  that  route  ;  and  I 
remember  he  spoke  of  another,  where  he  said  the  wa- 
ters were  too  high." 

"  Ay — and  does  he  think  to  find  Frampton  on  the 
skirts  ? — and  then,  what  a  round-about  way  by  Droze's  ! 
eh  !  neighbours  ? — he  can't  be  there  before  midnight. 
But,  of  course,  he  went  there  in  time,"  said  Humphries, 
insinuating  the  question. 

"  Only  two  hours  gone,"  replied  the  other,  giving  the 
desired  intelligence ;  "  but  he  won't  do  more  than  stretch 
to  the  swamp  to-night.  He  wants  to  be  ready  to  make 
a  dash  with  the  daylight  upon  them,  when  he  hopes  to 
find  the  fellow  not  yet  out  of  his  nest." 

Humphries  looked  approvingly  as  he  heard  the  plan, 
and  he  exchanged  glances  of  intelligence  at  intervals 
with  Singleton,  who  listened  attentively  to  this  dia- 
logue, which  had  wormed  out  the  secret  of  one  of  those 
little  adventures  of  Huck's  party,  in  which  his  com- 
mand was  most  generally  employed.  The  look  of  Sin- 
gleton spoke  clearly  to  Humphries  his  desire  of  the 


THE    PARTISAN.  61 

Strife ;  and  the  other,  with  a  due  correspondence  of 
feeling",  was  yet  prudent  enough  to  control  its  expres- 
sion in  his  features.  In  the  mean  time,  Huck,  who 
had  long  been  desirous  of  securing  Humphries  for  his 
troop,  now  pressed  the  latter  more  earnestly  than  ever 
upon  that  subject.  Taking  him  aside,  he  detailed  to 
him  in  an  under-tone  the  thousand  advantages  of  profit 
and  position  which  must  result  to  him  from  coming  out 
in  arms  for  his  majesty,  and  in  his,  Captain  Huck's, 
particular  command  of  cavalry.  It  was  amusing  to 
observe  how  much  stronger  became  his  anxiety  when- 
ever his  eye  rested  upon  the  form  of  Singleton,  whom 
he  now  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  rival  leader.  The  eye 
of  young  Humphries,  also,  glanced  frequently  in  the 
same  direction,  as,  from  a  previous  knowledge  of  the 
character  of  Singleton,  he  felt  how  impatient  he  would 
be  until  he  could  make  the  attack  which  he  saw  he 
contemplated  upon  the  marauding  party  which  had 
been  sent  out  under  Travis.  It  was  in  such  little  ad- 
ventures that  the  partisan  warfare  of  Carolina  had  its 
origin. 

Humphries,  closely  pressed  by  Huck,  had  yet  inge- 
nuity enough  to  evade  his  application  without  offend- 
ing his  pride  or  alarming  his  suspicions.  He  made 
sundry  excuses  simply  as  to  time,  leaving  the  tory  to 
infer  that  in  the  end  the  recruit  would  certainly  be  his. 

"  You  will  soon  have  to  come  out.  Bill,  my  boy  ;  and 
dang  it,  but  there's  no  better  chance  than  you  have  in 
my  troop.  You  shall  be  my  right-hand  man,  for  I 
know  you,  old  fellow — and  blast  me,  but  I'd  sooner 
trust  you  than  any  chap  of  the  corps.  I  may  as  well 
put  you  down." 

"  No,  not  yet :  I'll  be  ready  to  answer  you  soon,  and 
I  can  easily  make  my  preparations.  You  have  arms 
a-plenty  ?" 

"  Soon  shall  have.  Three  wagons  are  on  their  way 
from  Charlestown  with  sabres  and  pistols  especially 
for  us." 

"  I  shall,  no  doubt,  Avant  some  of  them,  and  you  shall 

Vol.  I.— F 


62  THE    PARTISAN. 

then  hear  from  me.     There  is  time  enough  in  all  next 
week." 

"  Yes ;  but  be  quick  about  it,  or  there  will  be  no 
picking ;  and  then  you  have  but  twenty  days,  remem- 
ber. The  proclamation  gives  but  twenty  days,  and 
then  Cornwallis  has  sworn  to  treat  as  rebels,  with  the 
utmost  severity  of  the  law,  all  those  who  are  not  in 
arms  for  his  majesty — ^just  the  same  as  if  they  had 
fought  against  him.     See,  I  have  it  here." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  the  proclamation,  and  with 
it  a  private  order,  which  was  issued  by  the  commander- 
in-chief  to  all  the  subordinate  commands,  giving  direc- 
tions for  the  utmost  severity,  and  prescribing  the  mode 
of  punishment  for  the  refractory,  nearly  in  the  language 
and  to  the  full  effect  of  Huck's  representations.  Hum- 
phries looked  grave  enough  at  these  crowding  evi- 
dences, but  resisted,  by  well-urged  evasions,  the  ex- 
hortations of  the  tempter.  The  tory  captain  was  com- 
pelled to  rest  satisfied  for  the  present,  assured  that  he 
had  held  forth  especial  inducements  to  the  countryman 
which  must  give  his  troop  a  preference  in  his  eye  over 
any  claims  that  might  be  set  up  by  the  rival  recruiting 
officer,  as  he  considered  Singleton.  With  a  hearty 
shake  of  the  hand,  and  a  few  parting  words  in  whisper 
to  his  companion,  he  left  the  hotel  to  make  his  way — a 
subtle  sycophant  with  his  superiors — to  the  presence 
of  Colonel  Proctor  of  the  Dorchester  garrison,  from 
whom  he  had  received  his  commission. 

Singleton,  while  this  episode  of  Humphries  and  the 
tory  had  been  going  on,  employed  himself  in  oc- 
casional conversation  with  the  landlord  and  sundry  of 
the  villagers  in  another  end  of  the  apartment.  In  this 
conversation,  though  studiously  selecting  topics  of  a  na- 
ture not  to  startle  or  offend  the  fears  or  the  prejudices 
of  any,  he  contrived,  with  no  little  ingenuity,  to  bring 
about,  every  now  and  then,  occasional  expressions  of 
their  feelings  and  opinions.  He  saw,  from  these  few 
and  brief  evidences,  that  their  feelings  were  not  with 
their  rulers — that  they  subscribed,  simply,  to  a  hard  ne- 
cessity, and  would  readily  seek  the  means  of  relief,  did 


THE    PARTISAN.  63 

they  know  where  to  find  it.  He  himself  took  care, 
while  he  uttered  nothing  which  could  be  construed  into 
an  offence  against  loyalty,  to  frame  what  he  did  say  in 
such  a  guise  that  it  must  have  touched  and  ministered 
largely  to  the  existing  provocations.  He  could  see 
this  in  the  burning  indignation  strong  in  every  counte- 
nance, as  he  dwelt  upon  the  imperative  necessity  they 
were  now  under  of  taking  up  arms  in  obedience  to  the 
proclamation.  His  urging  of  this  topic  was,  like  that 
of  Huck,  ostensibly  the  obtaining  of  recruits  for  his 
contemplated  troop.  His  policy  was  one  frequently 
acted  upon  in  that  strange  warfare,  in  which  the  tories, 
when  defeated,  found  few  conscientious  scruples  to  re- 
strain them  from  falling  into  the  ranks  and  becoming 
good  soldiers  along  with  their  conquerors.  Such  de- 
vices as  that  which  he  now  aimed  to  practise  were 
freely  resorted  to  ;  and  the  case  was  not  uncommon  of 
a  troop  thus  formed  under  the  eye  of  the  enemy,  and, 
in  his  belief,  to  do  the  battles  of  the  monarch,  moving 
off,  en  masse,  the  first  opportunity,  and  joining  with 
their  fellow-countrymen,  as  well  in  flight  as  in  victory. 
Such,  however,  was  scarcely  now  the  object  of  the 
stranger  :  he  simply  desired  that  his  loyalty  might  pass 
unquestioned  ;  and  he  put  on  a  habit,  therefore,  as  a  dis- 
guise, which  but  too  many  natives  wore  with  far  less  scru- 
ple, and  perhaps  with  some  show  of  grace.  It  may  be 
said,  as  highly  gratifying  to  Singleton,  that  in  the  char- 
acter thus  assumed  he  made  no  converts. 

But  the  bell  for  supper  was  now  ringing,  and  taking 
his  way  with  the  rest,  he  passed  into  the  inner  apart- 
ment. Bella  Humphries  presided,  her  brother  taking 
a  seat  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  ministering  to 
the  guests  in  that  quarter.  Singleton  was  assigiaed  a 
seat,  possibly  by  way  of  distinction,  close  to  the 
maiden,  who  smiled  graciously  at  his  approach.  Still 
she  looked  not  so  well  satisfied.  Neither  of  her  squires 
was  present,  and  her  eye  wandered  from  side  to  side 
among  her  unattractive  countrymen  at  the  table,  rest- 
ing at  last,  as  with  a  dernier  hope,  upon  the  manly  but 
handsome  face  and  person  of  our  adventurer.  While  she 


b4  THE    PARTISAN. 

did  SO,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  scanning  het-  features 
more  narrowly.  She  was  very  girhsh,  certainly  very 
youthful,  in  appearance,  and  her  face  was  decidedly 
handsome.  He  saw,  at  a  glance,  that  she  was  incapa- 
ble of  any  of  that  settled  and  solemn  feeling  which 
belongs  to  love,  and  which  can  only  exist  along  with 
a  strongly-marked  character  and  truly  elevated  senti- 
ments. Her  desire  was  that  of  display,  and  conquest 
made  the  chief  agent  to  this  end.  It  mattered  not  how 
doubtful  was  the  character  of  her  captives,  so  that  they 
■were  numerous ;  and  Singleton  felt  assured  that  his 
simple  Goose  Creek  convert,  Davis,  but  for  the  red 
coat  and  the  command,  stood  quite  as  good  a  chance 
in  the  maiden's  heart  as  the  more  formidable  sergeant. 
How  long  he  would  have  watched  the  features  which 
seemed  not  unwilling  to  attract  his  eye,  we  may  not 
say ;  but  his  gaze  was  at  length  disturbed  by  the  en- 
trance of  Davis,  who,  taking  his  seat  at  the  opposite 
corner  of  the  table,  now  appeared  in  a  better  and  a  more 
conciliating  humour.  He  addressed  some  country 
compliment  to  Bella,  which  she  was  not  displeased  to 
listen  to,  as  she  was  perfectly  satisfied  to  have  a 
swain,  no  matter  who,  in  the  absence  of  the  greater 
favourite.  She  answered  some  few  remarks  of  Single- 
ton and  Davis  with  a  pretty,  childish  simplicity,  which 
showed  that,  after  all,  the  misfortune  of  the  girl  was 
only  a  deficiency  in  the  more  interesting  points  of  char- 
acter, and  not  the  presence  of  an  improper  or  a  wanton 
capriciousness  of  feeling. 

Meantime  the  supping  proceeded,  and  towards  its 
conclusion,  Humphries  the  brother,  giving  Davis  a 
look  and  a  sign,  which  the  latter  seemed  to  compre- 
hend, left  the  apartment.  Davis  followed  him ;  and 
they  were  gone  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  which  time 
had  been  spent  by  Singleton  in  a  lively  chat  with 
the  girl,  when,  through  the  window,  he  saw  the  face  of 
a  man,  and  the  motion  of  a  hand  which  beckoned  him. 
In  a  moment  after  the  person  was  gone  ;  and  suff'ering 
some  few  seconds  to  elapse,  he  also  rose  and  obeyed 
the  signal.     He  took  his  way  into  the  yard,  and  under 


THE    PARTISAN.  6S 

the  shadow  of  a  tree,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  house, 
distinguished  the  person  of  Humphries.  Singleton  at 
once  approached  him — the  other  motioned  silence, 
seeing  him  about  to  speak,  and  led  him  to  the  stable, 
where  all  was  perfectly  in  shadow. 

"  We  are  safe  now,"  said  he.  Singleton  immediately- 
addressed  him,  and  with  some  show  of  impatience,  on 
a  subject  which  had  much  employed  his  thoughts  during 
the  past  hour. 

"  Humphries,  say,  can  we  not  strike  at  that  fellow 
Tracy  1  Is  it  possible  to  do  any  thing  with  his  de- 
tachment ?" 

"  Travis,  not  Tracy,  major,"  replied  the  other.  "  It 
is  possible,  sir  ;  and  there  is  a  strong  chance  of  our 
success  if  we  manage  well,  and  if  so  be  you  can  post- 
pone going  to  '  The  Oaks'  to-night." 

"  True,"  said  the  other  ;  "  I  should  like  ver}'  much 
to  go,  but  this  movement  of  Tracy — or  Travis,  you 
say — gives  us  a  good  beginning,  which  we  ought  on  no 
account  to  miss.  Besides,  we  should  put  your  men  on 
'iheir  guard — are  they  not  in  danger  ?" 

"  Not  if  they  watch  well ;  but  there's  no  answering 
for  new  hands.  They  must  have  practice  before  they 
can  learn,  and  down  here  they've  had  but  little  yet. 
They're  not  like  your  Santee  boys  I've  heard  you 
lell  of." 

"  Willing  soon  will  !  But  let  us  move.  I'll  say  no 
more  of  '  The  Oaks'  to-night  at  least.  We  can  move 
there  to-morrow.  Of  course  you  lead  the  route,  for  I 
know  nothing  about  it." 

"  Trust  to  me  ;  and,  major,  go  back  to  the  house 
quietly.  Wait  till  you  hear  my  whistle  three  times — 
thus.  It's  an  old  signal,  which  you'll  have  to  learn 
here,  as  our  little  squad  all  knows  it,  and  knows  nothing 
else  by  way  of  music.  Meantime  I'll  get  things  in  readi- 
ness, and  set  Davis  to  carry  out  the  horses  to  the  bush." 

"  Is  he  bent  to  go  with  us  V  was  Singleton's  question. 

"  True  as  steel.  A  little  weak  o'  heart,  sir,  about 
that  foolish  girl — but  that's  all  the  better,  for  it  makes 
him  hate  the  British  the  more.  Here  he  comes.  You 
F2 


66  tHE    PARTISAN. 

had  better  go  now,  major,  and  let  us  be  as  little  seen 
together  as  may  be.  You'll  mind  the  whistle — thus, 
three  times  ;"  and  in  a  low  tone  Humphries  gave  him 
the  signal.  Singleton  went  towards  the  house,  in  the 
shadow  of  which  he  was  soon  lost  from  sight,  while 
Humphries  and  Davis  proceeded  to  the  farther  arrange- 
ments. 

It  was  not  long  before  these  were  completed,  and 
■with  a  rush  of  pleasure  to  his  heart,  Major  Singleton 
heard  the  thrice-uttered  note — the  signal  agreed  upon 
— directly  beneath  his  chamber  window.  He  rose  at 
the  sound,  and  silently  descending  the  stairs,  passed 
through  the  hall,  where,  in  something  like  uncomfort- 
able sohtude,  the  fair  Bella  sat  alone.  She  looked  up 
as  she  heard  his  footsteps,  and  the  gracious  smile 
which  her  lips  put  on,  was  an  invitation  to  make  him- 
self happy  in  a  seat  beside  her.  But  he  resisted  the 
blandishment,  and  lifting  his  hat  as  he  passed,  with 
a  smile  in  return,  he  soon  disappeared  from  her  pres- 
ence, and  joined  the  two  who  awaited  him.  All  was 
ready  for  departure,  but  Davis  craved  a  few  minutes' 
indulgence  to  return  to  the  house. 

"  Why,  what  should  carry  you  back,  Davis  ?"  asked 
Humphries,  peevishly. 

"  Nothing,  Bill ;  but  I  must — I  will  go,"  said  the 
other. 

"  I  see,  I  see  :  you  will  be  as  foolish  as  ever,"  ex- 
claimed the  former,  as  the  lover  moved  away.  "  The 
poor  fellow's  half  mad  after  my  sister,  major,  and  she, 
you  see,  don't  care  a  straw  about  him.  She  happened 
to  smile  on  him  at  supper-table,  and  he  takes  it  for 
granted  he's  in  a  fair  way.  We  must  wait  for  him,  I 
suppose  ;  and  if  I  know  Bella,  he  won't  keep  us  long." 

Meanwhile,  the  seat  beside  her,  which  her  smile  had 
beckoned  Major  Singleton  to  occupy,  had  been  comfort- 
ably filled  by  Davis.  The  girl  was  not  displeased  to 
see  him :  she  was  lonesome,  wanted  company,  and 
liked,  as  all  other  coquettes  do,  to  have  continually  in 
her  presence  some  one  or  other  of  the  various  trophies 
of  her  conquest — she  cared  not  materially  which.    Her 


THE    PARTISAN.  67 

graciousness  softened  very  greatly  the  moody  spirit  of 
her  swain,  so  that  he  half-repented  of  that  rashness 
which  was  about  to  place  him  in  a  position  calculated, 
under  every  probability,  to  wrest  him,  for  a  time 
at  least,  from  the  enjoyment  of  that  society  which 
he  so  much  coveted.  Her  gentleness,  her  good-nature, 
her  smiles — so  very  unfrequent  to  him  for  so  long  a 
time — almost  turned  his  brain,  and  his  professions  of 
love  grew  passionate,  and  he  himself  almost  eloquent 
in  their  utterance.  Surely,  there  is  no  tyramiy  like 
that  of  love,  since  it  puts  us  so  completely  in  subjection 
to  the  character  which  deliberate  reason  must  despise. 
In  the  midst  of  his  pleading,  and  while  she  regarded 
him  with  her  most  gracious  smile,  the  voice  of  the  ob- 
trusive Sergeant  Hastings  was  heard  in  the  tap-room, 
and  the  sweet  passages  of  love  were  at  once  over  be- 
tween the  couple.  "  As  rocks  that  have  been  rent 
asunder"  was  their  new  position.  The  maiden  drew 
her  chair  a  foot  back  from  its  place,  and  when  Davis 
looked  into  her  face,  and  beheld  the  corresponding 
change  in  its  expression,  he  rose  up,  with  a  bitter  curse 
in  his  throat,  which  he  was  nevertheless  too  well- 
behaved  to  utter.  He  wanted  no  better  evidence  of 
her  heartlessness,  and  with  a  look  which  said  what 
his  tongue  could  not  have  spoken,  he  seemed  to  warn 
her  that  he  was  lost  to  her  for  ever.  His  determination 
was  at  length  complete,  and  rapidly  passing  the  luckier 
sergeant,  who  now  entered  the  apartment,  he  was  soon 
again  in  company  with  the  two  he  had  left  in  waiting. 
Humphries  smiled  as  he  saw  the  desperate  manner  of 
his  comrade,  but  nothing  was  said,  and  the  three  to- 
gether made  their  way  on  foot,  till,  leaving  the  village, 
they  entered  the  forest  to  the  right,  and  found  the  clump 
of  trees  to  which  their  horses  had  been  fastened.  In  a 
moment  they  were  mounted  and  speeding  with  the 
wind  towards  the  close  and  scarcely  penetrable  estuary 
known  as  the  Cypress  Swamp,  and  forming  a  spacious 
reservoir  for  the  Ashley,  from  which,  by  little  and 
little,  widening  as  it  goes,  it  expands  at  length,  a  few 
miles  below,  into  a  noble  and  navigable  river, 


68  THIS    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Stretch  out  thy  wand  before  thou  set'st  thy  foot ; 
'Tis  a  dim  way  before  thee,  and  the  trees 
Of  bygone  centuries  have  spread  their  arms 
Athwart  thy  path.     Now  make  thy  footing  sure ; 
And  now,  God  cheer  us,  for  the  toil  is  done." 

Night  had  fairly  set  in — a  clear  starlight  night — 
before  the  three  set  forth  upon  their  proposed  adven- 
ture. To  Major  Singleton,  who  was  a  native  of  the 
middle  country,  and  had  lived  heretofore  almost  exclu- 
sively in  it,  the  path  they  now  travelled  was  entirely 
unknown.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  move  on 
slowly  and  with  due  circumspection.  But  for  this,  the 
party  would  have  advanced  with  as  much  speed  as  if 
they  were  pursuing  the  common  highway  ;  for,  to  the 
other  two,  accustomed  all  their  lives  to  the  woodland 
cover  and  the  tangled  recesses  of  the  swamps,  their 
present  route,  uncleared,  in  close  thicket  growth,  and 
diverging  as  it  continually  did,  was,  nevertheless,  no 
mystery.  Though  delayed,  however,  by  this  cause,  the 
delay  was  much  less  than  might  have  been  expected  ; 
for  Singleton,  however  ignorant  of  the  immediate 
gi'ound  over  which  they  sped,  was  yet  thoroughly 
versed  in  forest  life,  and  had  traversed  the  longer  and 
denser  swamps  of  the  Santee,  a  task,  though  similar, 
infinitely  more  difficult  and  extensive  than  the  one  now 
before  him.  After  a  little  while,  therefore,  when  his 
eye  grew  more  accustomed  to  the  peculiar  shades 
about  him,  he  spurred  his  good  steed  forward  with 
much  more  readiness  than  at  their  first  setting  out,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  the  yielding  of  the  soil  beneath 
his  hoofs  and  the  occasional  plash  of  the  water,  toge- 


THE    PARTISAN.  69 

ther  with  the  more  frequent  appearance  of  the  solemn 
and  ghostly  cypresses  around  them,  gave  sufficient  in- 
dication of  the  proximity  of  the  swamp. 

They  had  ridden  some  five  miles,  and  in  all  this 
time  no  word  had  been  spoken  by  either  of  the  three, 
except  when,  here  and  there,  an  increased  difficulty  in 
the  path  led  Humphries  to  the  utterance  of  some  cau- 
tion to  his  companions.  They  were  now  close  upon 
the  cypress  causeway,  and  the  swamp  Avas  gathering 
around  them.  Their  pace  grew  slower  and  more  fa- 
tiguing, for  the  freshet  had  swept  the  temporary  struc- 
ture over  which  they  rode,  and  many  of  the  rails  were 
floating  in  their  path.  Little  gaps  were  continually 
presenting  themselves,  many  of  which  they  saw  not, 
but  which,  fortunately  for  their  safety,  were  gener- 
ally avoided  by  the  horses  without  any  call  for  inter- 
ference on  the  part  of  their  riders.  Stumbling  some- 
times, however,  they  were  warned  not  to  press  their 
animals  ;  and  picking  their  way  with  as  much  care  as 
p»ossible,  they  went  on  in  single  file,  carefully  and 
slowly,  over  the  narrow  and  broken  embankment.  It 
was  at  this  part  of  their  progress  that  Humphries  broke 
out  more  freely  into  speech  than  he  had  done  before, 
for  his  usual  characteristic  was  that  of  taciturnity. 

"  Now,  I  do  hate  these  dams  and  causeways ;  our 
people  know  nothing  of  road-making,  and  they  ridge 
and  bridge  it,  while  our  bones  ache  and  our  legs  go 
through  at  every  step  we  take  in  going  over  them.  Yet 
they  won't  learn — they  won't  look  or  listen.  They  do 
as  they  have  done  a  hundred  years  before,  and  all  your 
teaching  is  of  no  manner  of  use.  Here  is  this  cause- 
way now — every  freshet  must  break  its  banks  and  tear 
up  the  poles,  yet  they  come  back  a  week  after,  and 
lay  them  down  just  as  before.  They  never  ask  if 
there's  a  way  to  build  it,  which  is  to  make  it  lasting. 
They  never  think  of  such  a  thing.  Their  fathers  did 
so  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  that's  reason  enough  why 
they  should  do  so  now." 

"  And  what  plan  have  you,  Humphries,  by  which  to 
make  the  dam  solid  and  strong  against  the  freshets, 


70  THE    PARTISAN". 

such  as  we  have,  that  sweep  every  thhig  before  them, 
and  sometimes  give  us  half  a  dozen  feet  of  water  for  a 
week,  over  a  road  that  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
walk  dryshod  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  there  is  a  way,  major,  and  with  far 
less  labour.     There's  no  use  in  building  a  road  unless 
you  give  it  a  backbone.    You  must  run  a  ridge  through 
it,  and  all  the  freshets  make  it  stronger,  for  they  wash 
the  refuse  and  the  mud  up  against  it,  instead  of  wash- 
ing it  away.    You  see  all  good  roads  rise  in  the  centre. 
The  waters  run  off  and  never  settle,  which  they  always 
do  in  the  hollows  between  these  poles.     You  fell  your 
tree,  always  a  good  big  one,  to  make  your  ridge — your 
backbone  ;    and  if  it  be  a  causeway  like  this,  running 
through  a  swamp,  that  you  would  build,  why,  you  fell 
your  dozen  trees,  or  more,  according  to  the  freshet's 
call  for  them.     You  lay  them  side  by  side,  not  across, 
but  up  and  down  the  road,  taking  care  to  put  the  big 
ones  in  the   centre.     So  you  may  run  it  for  miles, 
heaping  the  earth  up  to  the  logs.     A  road  made  after 
that  fashion  will  stand  a  thousand  years,  while  such  a 
thing  as  this  must  always  be  washing  away  with  every 
fresliet.     It  takes,  in  the  first  place,  you  see,  a  great 
deal  more  of  labour  and  time,  and  a  great  deal  more 
of  timber,  to  build  it  after  this  fashion;  then,  it  takes 
more  dirt  to  cover  the  rails — a  hundred  times  the  quan- 
tity— and  unless  they're  well  covered,  they  can't  be 
kept  down  ;  they  will  always  come  loose,  and  be  float- 
ing with  every  rain,  and  then  the  water  settles  heavily 
in  their  places  and  between  them.     This  can't  be  the 
case  where  you  lay  the  timber  up  and  down,  as  1  tell 
you.     It  must  stand  fast  ;  for  the  rain  can't  settle,  and 
the  earth  gathers  close  to  the  ridge,  and  hugs  it  tighter 
the  more  the  water  beats  on  it.     Besides,  building  it 
this  way,  you  use  heavy  timber,  which  the  waters  can't 
move  at  any  season.     But  here  we  stop ;  we  have  no 
farther  use   for  the  causeway  to-night ;    there's   our 
mark.    See  to  that  white  tree  there  ;  it's  a  blasted  pine, 
and  it  shines  in  a  dark  night  as  if  it  was  painted.    The 
lightning  peeled  it  from  top  to  toe.     It's  a'most  two 


THE   PARTISAN.  '''l 

years  since.  I  was  not  far  off  in  the  swamp,  catching 
terapins,  when  it  was  struck,  and  I  was  stupiiied  for 
an  hour  after,  and  my  head  had  a  ringing  in  it  I  didn't 
get  rid  of  for  a  month." 

"  What,  do  we  go  aside  here  ?"  inquired  Davis,  wlio 
did  not  seem  to  relish  the  diversion,  as  the  first  plunge 
they  were  required  to  make  from  the  broken  causeway 
was  into  a  turbid  pond,  black,  and  almost  covered  with 
fragments  of  decayed  timber  and  loose  bundles  of 
brush. 

"  Yes,  that's  our  path,"  replied  Humphries,  who  res- 
olutely put  his  horse  forward  as  he  spoke. 

"  This  is  about  one  of  the  worst  places,  major,  that 
we  shall  have  to  go  through,  and  we  take  it  on  purpose, 
so  that  we  may  not  be  tracked  so  easily.  Here,  when 
we  leave  the  causeway,  we  make  no  mark,  and  few 
people  think  to  look  for  us  in  the  worst  place  on  the 
line.  No,  indeed ;  most  people  have  a  love  to  make 
liard  things  easy,  though  they  ought  to  know  that  when 
a  man  wants  to  hide,  he  takes  a  hole,  and  not  a  high- 
way, to  do  it  in.  Here,  major,  this  way — to  your  left, 
Davis — through  the  bog." 

The  party  followed  as  their  guide  directed,  and  after 
some  twenty  minutes'  plunging,  they  were  deep  in  the 
shadow  and  the  shelter  of  the  swamp.  The  gloom 
was  thicker  around  them,  and  was  only  relieved  by  the 
pale  and  skeleton  forms  of  the  cypresses,  clustering  in 
groups  along  the  plashy  sides  of  the  still  lake,  and 
giving  meet  dwelling-places  to  the  screech-owl,  that 
hooted  at  intervals  from  their  rugged  branches.  Some- 
times a  phosphorescent  gleam  played  over  the  stagnant 
pond,  into  which  the  terapin  plunged  heavily  at  their 
approach  ;  while  on  the  neighbouring  banks  the  frogs  of 
all  degrees  croaked  forth  their  inharmonious  chant, 
making  the  scene  more  hideous,  and  certainly  adding 
greatly  to  the  sense  of  gloom  which  it  inspired  in  those 
who  penetrated  it.  A  thousand  other  sounds  tilled  up 
the  pauses  between  the  conclusion  of  one  and  the 
commencement  of  another  discordant  chorus  from  these 
admitted  croakers — sounds  of  alarm,  of  invitation,  of 


72  THE    PARTISAN.' 

exulting  tyranny — the  cry  of  the  little  bird,  when  the 
black-snake,  hugging  the  high  tree,  climbs  up  to  the 
nest  of  her  young,  while,  with  shrieks  of  rage,  flapping 
his  roused  wings,  the  mate  flies  furiously  at  his  head, 
and  gallantly  enough,  though  vainly,  endeavours  to 
drive  him  back  from  his  unholy  purpose — the  hum 
of  the  drowsy  beetle,  the  faint  chirp  of  the  cricket,  and 
the  buzz  of  the  innumerable  thousands  of  bee,  bird,  and 
insect,  which  make  the  swamps  of  the  South,  in  mid- 
summer and  its  commencement,  the  vast  storehouse,  in 
all  its  forms,  of  the  most  various  and  animated  life — 
all  these  were  around  the  adventurers,  with  their  gloomy 
and  distracting  noises,  until  they  became  utterly  un- 
heeded at  last,  and  the  party  boldly  kept  its  onward 
course  into  their  yet  deeper  recesses. 

"  Well,  Humphries,"  said  Major  Singleton,  at  length 
breaking  the  silence,  "  so  far,  so  good  ;  and  now  what 
is  our  farther  progress,  and  what  the  chances  for  trap- 
ping this  Travis  1  Will  he  not  steal  a  march  upon  us, 
and  be  into  the  swamp  before  daylight  ?" 

"  Never  fear  it,  major,"  replied  the  other,  coolly 
enough,  while  keeping  on  his  way.  "  You  remember, 
sir,  what  Huck  gave  us  of  his  plan.  He  will  place 
himself  upon  the  skirts  of  the  swamp,  high  above  the 
point  at  which  we  struck,  and  keep  quiet  till  morning. 
He  will  be  up  betimes,  and  all  that  we  must  do  is  to  be 
up  before  him.  We  have  a  long  ride  for  it,  as  it  is  one 
part  of  our  work  to  stop  him  before  he  gets  too  far 
into  the  brush.  I  know  his  course  just  as  if  I  saw  him 
on  it." 

"  Yes  ;  such  indeed  may  have  been  the  plan;  but  is 
there  no  chance  of  his  departing  from  it  ?  A  good 
leader  will  not  hold  himself  bound  to  a  prescribed 
course,  if  he  finds  a  better.  He  may  push  for  the 
swamp  to-night,  and  I  am  very  anxious  that  we  should 
be  in  time  to  strike  him  efficiently." 
^  "  We  shall,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  calmly ;  "  we 
shall  have  sufficient  time,  for  I  know  Travis  of  old. 
He  is  a  good  hound  for  scent,  but  a  poor  one  for  chase. 
He  goes  slow  to  be  certain,  and  is  always  certain  to  ^ 


THE    PARTISAN.  73 

be  slow.  It's  nature  with  him  now,  though  quick 
enough,  they  say,  some  twenty  years  ago,  when  he 
went  out  after  the  Cherokees.  Besides,  he  has  a  long 
sweep  to  make  before  he  gets  fairly  into  the  swamps, 
and  the  freshet  we  have  had  lately  will  throw  him  out 
often  enough,  and  make  his  way  longer.  We  shall  be 
in  time." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  sure  of  your  man,  Humphries. 
I  would  not  like  to  lose  a  good  chance  at  the  party.  A 
successful  blow  struck  in  this  quarter,  and  just  at  this 
moment,  would  have  a  fine  effect.  Why,  man,  it  would 
bring  out  those  fellows  handsomely,  whose  ears  are 
now  full  of  this  protection  business,  which  troubles 
them  so  much.  If  they  must  fight,  they  will  see  the 
wisdom  of  taking  part  with  the  side  which  does  not 
call  upon  them  to  strike  friends  or  brethren.  They 
must  join  with  us  to  a  man,  or  go  to  the  West  Indies, 
and  that,  no  doubt,  some  of  the  dastards  will  not  fail 
to  do  in  preference.  God  help  me,  but  I  can  scarce 
keep  from  cursing  them,  as  I  think  on  their  degrada- 
tion." 

"  Bad  enough,  major,  bad  enough  when  it's  the  poor 
man,  without  house  and  home,  and  nothing  to  live  for 
and  nothing  to  lose,  who  takes  up  with  the  enemy  and 
lights  his  battles ;  but  it's  much  worse  when  the  rich 
men  and  the  gentlemen,  who  ought  to  know  better,  and 
to  set  a  good  example,  it's  much  worse  when  they're 
the  first  to  do  so.  Now  I  know  and  I  feel,  though  I 
expect  you  won't  be  so  willing  to  believe  it,  that,  after 
all,  it's  the  poor  man  who  is  the  best  friend  of  his  coun-  , 
try  in  the  time  of  danger.  He  doesn't  reckon  how 
much  he's  to  lose,  or  what  risk  he's  to  run,  when  there's 
"a  sudden  difficulty  to  get  through  with.  He  doesn't 
think  till  it's  all  over,  and  then  he  may  ask  how  much 
he  gains  by  it,  without  getting  a  civil  answer." 

"  There's  truth  in  what  you  say,  Humphries,  and  we 
do  the  poor  but  slack  justice  in  our  estimation  of  them. 
AVe  see  only  their  poverty,  and  not  their  feelings  and 
affections ;  we   have,  therefore,  but  little    sympathy, 

Vol.  I.— G 


74  THE    PARTISAN. 

and  perhaps  nothing  more  than  life  and  like  wants  in 
common  with  them." 

"  That's  a  God's  truth  here,  major,  where  the  poor 
man  does  the  fighting  and  the  labour,  and  the  rich 
man  takes  protection  to  save  his  house  from  the  fire. 
Now,  its  just  so  with  this  poor  man  Frampton.  He 
was  one  of  Buford's  men,  and  when  Tarleton  came 
upon  them,  cutting  them  up  root  and  branch,  he  took 
to  the  swamp,  and  wouldn't  come  in,  all  his  neighbours 
could  do,  because  the  man  had  a  good  principle  for 
his  country.  Well,  you  see  what  he's  lost ; — you 
can't  know  his  sufferings  till  you  see  him,  major, 
and  I  won't  try  to  teach  you ;  but  if  there's  a  man  can 
look  on  him,  and  see  his  misery,  and  know  what  did 
it,  without  taking  up  sword  and  rifle,  I  don't  want  to 
know  that  man.  I  know  one  that's  of  a  different  way 
of  thinking,  and  willing  to  do  both." 

"  And  I  another !"  exclaimed  Davis,  who  had  been 
silent  in  their  ride  hitherto. 

"  Is  Frampton  here  in  the  swamp — and  shall  we  see 
him  to-night  1"  asked  Singleton,  curious  to  behold  a 
man  who,  coming  from  the  poorest  class  of  farmers 
in  the  neighbourhood,  had  maintained  such  a  tenacious 
spirit  of  resistance  to  invasion,  when  the  more  leading 
people  around  him,  and  indeed  the  greater  majority, 
had  subscribed  to  terms  of  indulgence,  which,  if  less 
honourable,  were  here  far  more  safe.  The  sufferings 
of  the  man  himself,  the  cruel  treatment  his  wife  had 
imdergone,  and  her  subsequent  death,  also  contributed 
largely  to  that  interest  which,  upon  hearing  his  simple 
but  pathetic  story,  the  speaker  had  immediately  felt  to 
know  him. 

"  We  shall  see  him  in  an  hour,  major,  and  a  melan- 
choly sight  it  is ;  you'll  be  surprised,  and  if  you  aint  very 
strong  of  heart,  it  will  go  nigh  to  sicken  you.  But  it 
does  good  to  see  it  for  one's  self;  it  makes  one  strong 
against  tyranny." 

"It  grows  very  dark  here." 

"  That's  water  before  you,  and  a  good  big  pond  100,** 
said  Davis. 


THE    PARTISAN.  75 

"This  is  the  track,  major  ;"  and  Humphries  led  the 
way  to  the  left,  inclining  more  in  the  direction  of  the 
river.  A  sullen,  child-like  cry,  succeeded  by  a  sudden 
plunge  into  the  water,  indicated  the  vicinity  of  an 
alligator,  which  they  had  disturbed  in  his  own  home  ; 
the  rich  globules  of  light,  showering  over  the  Avater 
around  him,  giving  a  singular  beauty  to  the  scene,  in 
every  other  respect  so  dark  and  gloomy.  They  kept 
continually  turning  in  a  zigzag  fashion  almost  at  every 
step,  to  avoid  the  waving  vine,  the  close  thicket,  or  the 
half-stagnant  creek,  crowded  with  the  decayed  frag- 
ments of  an  older  and  an  overthrown  forest. 

A  shrill  whistle  at  this  moment,  thrice  repeated,  sa- 
luted their  ears.  It  was  caught  up  in  the  distance  by 
another,  and  another,  in  a  voice  so  like,  that  they  might 
almost  have  passed  for  so  many  echoes  of  the  same. 

"  Our  sentries  watch  closely,  major ;  we  must  an- 
swer them,  or  we  may  sup  on  cold  lead,"  said  Hum- 
phries. As  he  spoke,  he  responded  to  the  signal, 
and  his  answer  was  immediately  followed  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  figure  emerging  from  behind  a  tree  that 
bulged  out  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  tussock  upon  which 
they  were  now  standing.  The  dim  outline  only,  and 
no  feature  of  the  new-comer,  was  distinguishable  by 
the  group. 

"  Ha  !  Warner,  you  watch  ? — all's  well ;  and  now 
lead  the  way.     Are  all  the  boys  in  camp?" 

"  All!"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  a  few  more  come  in  from 
Buford's  corps  who  know  Frampton." 

"  And  how  is  he  1 — does  he  know  them  V 

"  He's  in  a  bad  fix,  and  knows  nothing.  You  can 
hardly  get  a  word  oul  of  him  since  his  wife's  come." 

"  His  wife  !  Why,  man,  Avhat  do  you  think  of  ? — his 
wife's  dead !"  exclaimed  Humphries  with  surprise. 

"  Yes — we  know  that ;  but  he  brought  her,  all  the 
same  as  if  she  was  alive,  on  his  shoulders,  and  he 
won't  give  her  up.  There  he  sits,  close  alongside  of 
her,  watching  her  all  the  time,  and  brushing  the  flies 
from  her  face.  He  don't  seem  to  mind  that  she's 
dead." 


•ye  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Great  God  !"  exclaimed  Singleton,  "  the  unhappy 
man  is  mad.  Let  us  push  on,  and  see  what  can  be 
done." 

Without  a  word  farther,  following  their  new  guide, 
Warner,  they  advanced  upon  their  way,  until  the  blaze 
of  a  huge  lire,  bursting  as  it  were  out  of  the  very 
bosom  of  the  darkness,  rose  wavingly  before  them. 
The  camp  of  the  outlawed  whigs,  or  rebels,  as  they 
were  styled  by  the  enemy,  lonely  and  unattractive,  on 
a  little  island  of  the  swamp,  in  a  i'ew  moments  after 
rose  fully  in  their  sight;  and  plunging  into  the  creek 
that  surrounded  it,  though  swimming  at  that  moment, 
a  bound  or  two  carried  them  safely  over,  and  they  stood 
ill  the  presence  of  their  comrades. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Do  I  not  live  for  it  ?     I  have  no  life, 
But  in  the  hope  that  life  may  bring  with  it 
The  bitter-sweet  of  vengeance." 

The  gloomy  painter  would  have  done  much  with  the 
scene  before  them.  The  wild  and  mystic  imagination 
would  have  made  it  one  of  supernatural  terrors ;  and 
fancy,  fond  of  the  melancholy  twilight,  would  have 
endowed  the  dim  shadows,  lurking  like  so  many  spectres 
between  the  bald  cypresses,  with  a  ghostly  character, 
and  most  unhallowed  purpose.  Though  familiar  with 
such  abodes.  Singleton,  as  he  looked  upon  the  strange 
groupings  thrown  along  the  sombre  groundwork,  was 
impressed  with  a  lively  sense  of  its  imposing  felicity. 
They  stood  upon  an  island  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
swamp — one  of  those  little  islands,  the  tribute  ooze  of 
numerous  minor  water-courses,  hardening  into  solidity 
at  last.  These,  beating  their  feeble  tides  upon  a  single 
point,  in  process  of  time  create  the  barrier  which  is  to 
usurp  their  own  possessions.     Here,  the  rank  matter  of 


THE    PARTISAN.  77 

the  swamp,  its  slime  and  rubbish,  resolving  themselves 
by  a  natural  but  rapid  decomposition  into  one  mass,  yield 
the  thick  luxuriance  of  soil  from  which  springs  up  the 
overgrown  tree,  which  heaves  out  a  thousand  branches, 
and  seems  to  liave  existed  as  many  years — in  whose 
bulk  we  behold  an  emblem  of  majesty,  and,  in  whose 
term  of  life,  standing  in  utter  defiance  of  the  sweeping 
hurricane,  we  have  an  image  of  strength  which  com- 
pels our  admiration,  and  sometimes  the  more  elevated 
acknowledgment  of  our  awe.  Thus,  gathering  on  this 
insulated  bed,  a  hundred  solemn  cypresses  mingled 
their  gaunt,  spectral  forms  with  the  verdant  freshness 
of  the  water-oak — the  rough  simplicity  and  height  of 
the  pine — all  intertwined  and  bound  together  in  the  com- 
mon guardianship  of  the  spot,  by  the  bulging  body  of 
the  luxuriant  grape-vine,  almost  rivalling  in  thickness, 
and  far  surpassing  in  strength,  the  trees  from  which  it 
depended — these  formed  a  natural  roof  to  the  island, 
circumscribing  its  limits  even  more  effectually  than  did 
the  narrow  creek  by  which  it  had  been  isolated,  and 
through  which  the  tribute  waters  of  this  wide  estuary 
found  their  way,  after  a  few  miles  of  contracted  jour- 
neying, into  the  bed  and  bosom  of  the  Ashley. 

A  couple  of  huge  fires,  which  they  had  seen  in 
glimpses  while  approaching,  were  in  full  blaze  upon 
the  island  ;  one,  the  largest,  near  its  centre  ;  the  other 
somewhat  apart,  upon  a  little  isthmus  which  it  thrust 
forth  into  the  mouth  of  the  creek.  Around  the  former 
lay  a  singular  assemblage  of  persons,  single,  or  in 
groups,  and  in  every  position.  There  were  not  more 
than  twenty  in  all,  but  so  disposed  as  to  seem  much 
more  numerous  to  the  casual  spectator.  Three,  in  the 
glare  of  the  fire,  sat  upon  a  log  at  cards,  one  at  either 
end,  and  the  third,  squat  upon  the  ground  beside  it.  A 
few  slept ;  some  were  engaged  in  conversation,  while 
one,  more  musical  than  his  neighbours,  broke  iuuO  a  song 
of  some  length,  in  which  the  current  situation  of  tht;  things 
aroimd  him  underwent  improvisation.  A  stout  negro 
prepared  the  evening  meal,  and  passed  between  the 
card-players  and  the  fire  to  their  occasional  inconve- 
G  2 


78  THE    PARTISAN. 

nience ;  their  sharp  but  unheeded  denunciations  being 
freely  bestowed  at  every  repetition  of  the  offence. 
The  dress  and  accoutrements  of  this  collection  were 
not  less  novel,  and  certainly  far  more  outre,  than  their 
several  positions  and  employments.  Certainly,  taste 
had  but  little  share  in  their  toilet  arrangements,  since 
the  hair  of  some  of  them  flew  dishevelled  in  the 
wind,  or  lay  matted  upon  their  brows,  unconscious  of 
a  comb.  The  faces  generally  of  the  party  were 
smeared,  and  some  of  them  absolutely  blackened,  by 
the  smoke  of  the  pine-wood  fires  which  at  night  were 
kept  continually  burning  around  them.  This  had  most" 
effectually  begrimed  their  features,  and  their  dresses 
had  not  scrupled  to  partake  of  the  same  colouring. 
These,  too,  were  as  various  as  the  persons  who  wore 
them.  The  ragged  coat,  the  round-jacket,  and  some- 
times the  entire  absence  of  both,  in  the  case  of  some 
individual  otherwise  conspicuous  enough,  destroyed 
all  chance  of  uniformity  in  the  troop.  There  was  but 
one  particular  in  which  their  garb  seemed  generally 
to  agree,  and  that  was  in  the  coonskin  cap  which  sur- 
mounted the  heads  of  most  of  them — worn  jantily 
upon  the  side  of  the  head,  with  slips  that  flapped  over 
the  ears,  and  the  tail  of  the  animal  depending  from 
front  or  rear,  tassel-fashion,  according  to  the  taste  of 
the  wearer.  Considering  such  an  assemblage,  so  dis- 
posed, so  habited,  in  connection  with  the  situation  and 
circumstances  in  which  we  find  them,  and  we  shall 
form  no  very  imperfect  idea  of  the  moral  effect  which 
their  appearance  must  have  had  upon  the  new  comers. 
The  boisterous  laugh,  the  angry,  sharp  retort,  the 
ready  song  from  some  sturdy  bacchanal,  and  the  silent 
sleeper  undisturbed  amid  all  the  uproar,  made,  of  them- 
selves, a  picture  to  the  mind  not  likely  to  be  soon  for- 
gotten. Then,  when  we  behold  the  flaming  of  the 
torch  in  the  deep  dark  which  it  only  for  a  moment 
dissipates,  and  which  crowds  back,  as  with  a  solid  body, 
into  the  spot  from  which  it  has  been  temporarily 
driven— 'the  light  flashing  along  and  reflected  back 
from  the  sullen  waters  of  the  creek, — listening,  at  the 


THE    PARTISAN.  79 

same  moment,  to  the  cry  of  the  screech-owl  as  the 
intruder  scares  him  from  his  perch — the  plaint  of  the 
whippoorwill,  in  return,  as  if  even  the  clamour  of  the 
obscene  bird  had  in  it  something  of  sympathy  for  the 
wounded  spirit, — these,  with  the  croaking  of  the  frogs 
in  millions,  with  which  the  swamp  was  a  dwelling- 
place  among  a  thousand,  were  all  well  calculated  to 
awaken  the  most  indifferent  regards,  and  to  compel  a 
sense  of  the  solemn-picturesque  even  in  the  mind  of 
the  habitually  frivolous  and  unthinking. 

With  the  repeated  signals  which  they  had  heard 
from  their  sentries  on  the  appearance  of  the  new 
comers,  the  scattered  groups  had  simultaneously  started 
to  their  feet,  and  put  themselves  in  a  state  of  readiness. 
The  signals  were  familiar,  however,  and  spoke  of 
friends  in  the  approaching  persons ;  so  that,  after  a 
few  moments  of  buzz  and  activity,  they  generally  sank 
back  sluggishly  to  their  old  occupations, — the  card- 
players  to  finish  their  game,  and  the  less  speculative, 
their  sleep.  Their  movement,  however,  gives  us  a 
better  opportunity  to  survey'  their  accoutrements.  The 
long  cumbrous  rifle  seemed  the  favourite  weapon,  and 
in  the  hands  of  the  diminutive,  sallow,  but  black-eyed 
and  venturous  dweller  in  the  swamps  of  the  lowlands, 
across  whose  knee  we  may  here  and  there  see  it 
resting,  it  may  confidently  be  held  as  fatal  at  a  hun- 
dred yards.  A  few  of  them  had  pistols — the  common 
horse-pistol — a  weapon  of  little  real  utility  under  any 
circumstances.  But  a  solitary  musket,  and  that  too 
without  the  bayonet,  was  to  be  seen  in  the  whole  col- 
lection ;  and  though  not  one  of  the  party  present  but 
had  his  horse  hidden  in  the  swamp  around  him,  yet 
not  one  in  five  of  the  riders  possessed  the  sabre,  that 
only  effective  weapon  of  cavalry.  These  were  yet  to 
be  provided,  and  at  the  expense  of  the  enemy. 

The  immediate  appearance  of  Major  Singleton,  as 
he  followed  Humphries  up  the  bank,  once  more  called 
them  to  their  feet.  He  had  been  expected,  yet  few  of 
them  personally  knew  him.  They  knew,  however, 
that  he  was  high  in  favour  with  Governor  Rutledge, 


80  THE    PARTISAN. 

and  bore  his  commission.     Of  this  they  had  been  ap- 
prized by   Humphries,  who  had  been  the  recruiting 
officer  of  the  troop.     They  now  crowded  around  him 
"with  a  show  of  curious  examination,  which  was  nar- 
row and  close    without   being  obtrusive.     With  that 
manly,  yet  complaisant  habit  which  distinguished  him, 
he  soon  made  himself  known  to  them,  and  his  opening 
speech  won  not  a  little  upon  their  hearts.     He  unfolded 
his  commission,  delivered  an  address  from  the  exec- 
utive, in  which  a  direct  and  warm  appeal  was  made 
to  their  patriotism,  and  concluded  with  some  remarks 
of  his  own  to  the  same  effect,  which  were  all  enthu- 
siastically received.     His  frank,  fearless  manner,  fine 
eye,  and  manly,  though  smooth  and  youthful  face,  took 
admirably  with  them,  and  at  once  spoke  favourably  to 
their  minds  in  support  of  his  pretensions  to  govern 
them.     This   command  they  at  once   tendered  him ; 
and  though  without  the  material  for  a  force  called  for 
by  the  commission  which  he  bore,  yet,  in  those  times, 
it  was  enough  that  they  loved  their  leader  and  were 
not  unwilling  to  fight  with  an  enemy.     Major  Sin- 
gleton was  content  to  serve  his  country  in  an  humbler 
command  than  that  which  his  commission  entitled  him 
to  hold.      Acting,  therefore,  as  their  captain  for  the 
present,  he   made    Humphries  his  lieutenant.      Him 
they  had  long  known,  and  he  was  a  favourite  among 
them.     He,  indeed,  had  been  chiefly  instrumental  in 
bringing  together  their  scattered  elements,  and  in  thus 
forming  the  nucleus  of  a  corps,  which,  in  the  subse- 
quent warfare,  contributed  in  no  slight  degree  to  the 
release  of   the    country  from  foreign   thraldom.      In 
Humphries  they  had  a  good  officer  and  every  con- 
fidence, though  it  was  obvious  enough,  that  while  full 
of  courage,  calm,  collected,  and  not  easily  moved,  he 
yet  lacked  many  of  those  essentials  of  superior  edu- 
cation and  bearing,  without  which  militia-men  are  not 
often  to  be  held  in  order.     He  was  not  sufficiently 
their  superior  to  stand  apart  and  to  command  them ; 
and  the  inferior  mind  will  never  look  to  its  equal  in 
the  moment  of  emergency.     Though  ready  and  acute 


THE    PARTISAN.  81 

enough  in  the  smaller  details  of  military  adventure — 
the  arrangement  of  the  ambuscade,  the  rapid  blow  al 
the  rear,  or  the  plan  for  striking  at  ihe  foragers  of  an 
enemy — he  was  yet  rather  apt  to  go  forward  with  than 
to  command  his  party.  He  trusted  rather  to  his  pres- 
ence than  to  the  superior  force  of  his  character,  to 
urge  upon  them  the  performance  of  their  duties  ;  and, 
conscious  of  this,  though  ready  at  all  times  to  lead,  he 
yet  shrank  from  the  necessity  of  commanding.  This 
capacity  can  only  result  successfully  from  an  habitual 
exercise  of  authority.  It  was  with  no  small  satisfac- 
tion, therefore,  that  he  placed  his  recruits  imder  the 
control  of  Major  Singleton,  although,  it  may  be  said, 
that  such  a  transfer  of  his  command  was  rather  nom- 
inal than  real ;  Humphries  still  counselling  in  great 
part  the  particular  business  of  adventure  which  Sin- 
gleton was  the  better  able  to  command.  The  latter 
had  yet  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  localities  which 
could  only  be  obtained  by  actual  experiment. 

"  And  now,  major,  soldiers  without  arms  are  not 
apt  to  fight  well.  Come,  sir,  with  me,  and  see  our 
armory.  It's  a  queer  one,  to  be  sure,  to  those  used 
to  a  better ;  but  it  must  serve  where  there's  no  choice. 
This  way,  sir — to  the  left.  Here,  Tom,  bring  a 
chunk." 

The  black  led  the  way  with  a  blazing  brand,  imtil 
their  farther  progress  was  arrested  by  the  waters  of 
the  creek.  In  the  centre  of  the  stream  grew  a 
cypress  of  immense  size,  much  larger  than  any  of  its 
surrounding  companions.  Motioning  Singleton  to  wait, 
Humphries  waded  into  the  water  almost  up  to  his  mid- 
dle, until  he  reached  the  tree,  into  which,  taking  the 
blazing  brand  from  the  black,  he  entered,  returning  in 
a  few  moments  with  half  a  dozen  fine  sabres,  which, 
one  after  the  other,  he  threw  from  him  to  the  bank. 

"  This  is  all  our  stock  in  trade,  major ;  and  you 
have  your  choice  of  them  till  we  can  get  a  better. 
This,  if  I  know  the  signs  of  the  weather,  we  shall 
do  before  long.  Meanwhile,  as  the  stufTs  good,  they 
wiU  answer  oin-  present  purpose." 


82  THE    PARTISAN. 

Singleton  pressed  the  points  of  the  weapons  severally 
to  the  earth,  testing  the  elasticity  of  the  steel,  then 
accommodating  the  hilt  to  his  grip,  declared  himself 
suited.  Humphries  made  a  selection  after  him,  and 
the  remaining  four  were  subsequently  distributed 
among  chosen  men,  to  whom  commands  in  the  little 
corps  were  assigned.  As  rebels,  heretofore, the  short- 
shrift  and  sure  cord  must  have  been  their  doom  if 
taken.  The  commission  of  the  state,  and  a  due  re- 
gister of  their  names  in  the  books  of  the  orderly,  now 
secured  them  in  the  immunities  of  regular  warfare, 
and  made  that  comparatively  innocent  which  before 
was  obnoxious  to  death  and  degradation. 

We  have  spoken  of  two  several  fires  as  conspicuous 
upon  the  island  at  the  approach  of  Singleton,  the  one 
upon  the  centre,  the  other,  and  smaller  one,  at  its  re- 
motest extremity.  Of  the  use  made  of  the  former, 
we  have  already  seen  something ;  the  other,  while  it 
had  caught  the  eye  of  Major  Singleton,  had  been  too 
remote  to  enable  him  to  distinguish  the  employment 
or  character  of  the  various  persons  who  yet  closely 
encircled  it.  He  could  see  that  there  were  several 
figures  sitting  around  the  brands,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  but  loosely  thrown  together,  as  they  had  now 
fallen  apart,  and  only  gave  forth  a  flickering  blaze  at 
intervals,  denying  that  constant  light,  without  which 
he  could  not  hope  to  gain  any  knowledge  of  the  per- 
sons, even  at  a  far  less  distance.  These  persons  had 
not  moved  at  his  approach,  and  had  remained  stationary 
all  the  while  he  was  employed  in  making  himself 
known  to  those  who  were  to  be  his  comrades.  This  ' 
alone  would  have  been  enough  to  attract  his 
attention  ;  and,  in  addition,  he  saw  that  those  around 
him,  when  bending  their  glances  off  in  the  direction  of 
his  own,  shook  their  heads  with  an  air  of  solemnity, 
and,  though  saying  nothing,  were  yet  evidently  influ- 
enced by  a  knowledge  of  some  circumstances  connected 
with  the  mysterious  group,  of  a  painful  character. 
Observing  the  inquiring  look  of  JVIajor  Singleton,  Hum- 
phries approached,  and  whispered  him  that  the  party 


THE    PARTISAN.  83 

at  the  opposite  fire  consisted  of  Frampton,  his  two 
sons,  and  the  dead  body  of  his  wife,  and  proposed 
that  they  should  go  to  him.  The  major  at  once  con- 
sented. 

"  You'll  see  a  sad  sight,  Major  Singleton — a  sad 
sight ! — for  the  man  is  crazy,  let  them  say  what  they 
may.  He  don't  know  half  the  time  what  he  says  or 
does,  and  he  scarcely  feels  any  thing." 

They  moved  over  in  the  prescribed  direction,  and  ap- 
proached without  disturbing  the  chief  personage  of  the 
group.  The  elder  son,  a  youth  of  twenty,  looked  up 
at  their  coming,  but  said  nothing.  It  was  evident  that 
he,  and  he  alone,  had  been  weeping.  The  other 
son,  a  tall  fine-looking  lad  of  sixteen,  seemed  in- 
spired with  harsher  feelings  as  his  eye  gazed  from 
the  face  of  the  father  to  that  of  the  mother,  whose 
dead  body  lay  between  the  two,  her  head  on  the  lap 
of  the  elder  son,  over  whose  arms  her  hair  streamed 
loosely — long,  and  delicately  brown  and  glossy.  She 
had  evidently  been  a  woman  of  some  attractions.  Her 
person  was  well  formed  and  justly  proportioned,  nei- 
ther masculine  nor  small.  Her  features  were  soft  and 
regidar.  The  face  was  smooth,  but  had  been  bruised, 
seemingly  as  if  she  had  fallen  upon  it ;  and  there  were 
blotches  upon  the  cheek  and  forehead,  which  may 
have  been  the  consequence  of  blows,  or  might  be  the 
natural  evidence  of  that  decay  which  was  now  strongly 
perceptible.  The  face  of  the  chief  mourner,  who  sat 
silent  at  her  feet,  looking  forward  into  her  face,  was 
a  fine  one,  as  well  in  its  mould  as  in  its  expression.  It 
was  that  of  a  splendid  savage.  There  was  enough  of 
solemn  ferocity  in  it  for  the  murderer,  enough  of  re- 
deeming sensibility  to  soften,  if  not  to  subdue,  the 
other  more  leading  attributes  of  its  character.  His 
skin  was  dark  like  that  of  the  people  generally  of  that 
neighbourhood.  His  eyes  were  black  and  piercing ; 
and  a  burning  spot  on  each  cheek,  seemed  to  have 
borrowed  from  the  red  glare  of  the  fire  at  his  side  a 
corresponding  intensity  of  hue.  His  lips  were  parted  ; 
and  the  lower  jav/  seemed  to  have  been  thrown  and 


84  THE    PARTISAN. 

kept  down  spasmodically.  Through  the  aperture 
glared  the  tips  of  the  small  and  white  teeth,  sometimes 
closed  together  by  a  sudden  convulsive  jerk,  but  im- 
mediately relaxing  again  and  resuming  their  divided 
position. 

He  took  no  sort  of  notice  of  the  new-comers,  until, 
throwing  himself  alongside  of  the  younger  boy,  Hum- 
phries took  the  hand  of  the  mother  into  his  own,  and 
gazed  over  upon  her  face.  Frampton  then  gave  him  a 
look — a  single  look ;  and  as  their  eyes  met,  those  of 
Humphries  intuitively  filled  with  water.  The  be- 
reaved wretch,  as  he  saw  this,  laughed  sneeringly  and 
shook  his  head.  There  was  no  misunderstanding  the 
rebuke.  It  clearly  scorned  the  sympathy,  and  called 
for  the  sterner  tribute  of  revenge.  The  elder  son 
then  carried  on  a  brief  conversation  in  an  under  tone 
with  the  lieutenant,  which  was  only  audible  in  part  to 
Singleton,  who  sat  on  the  root  of  a  tree  opposite. 
He  gave  the  particulars  of  his  mother's  removal  in 
this  dialogue,  and  of  the  resolute  doggedness  with 
which  his  father  had  hitherto  resisted  the  burial  of  the 
body. 

"  It  must  be  buried  at  once,"  said  Humphries  more 
earnestly  to  the  youth.  The  father  heard  him,  and 
glaring  upon  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  tiger,  the  desolate 
man  bent  forward  and  placed  his  hand  resolutely  over 
the  bod)',  as  if  determined  not  to  suffer  its  removal. 

"  Nay,  but  it  must,  Frampton ; — there's  no  use  in 
keeping  it  here :  and,  indeed,  there's  no  keeping  it 
much  longer.    Hear  to  reason,  man,  and  be  persuaded." 

The  person  addressed  shook  his  head,  and  main- 
tained his  hold  upon  it  for  a  moment  in  silence  ;  but 
all  on  a  sudden,  half  rising  to  his  feet,  he  shook  his 
fists  fiercely  at  the  speaker,  while  his  expression  was 
so  full  of  ferocity,  that  Humphries  prepared  for,  and 
every  moment  expected,  attack. 

"  You  have  lied  to  me,  Humphries  !"  he  exclaimed 
with  difficulty,  as  if  through  his  clenched  teeth. — 
"You  have  lied  to  me; — you  said  he  should  be 
here, — where  is  he  ?  why  have  you  not  brought  him  I" 


THE    PARTISAN.  85 

"  Who  ?  brought  who  ?"  demanded  the  other  earn- 
estly. 

"  Who  !" — and  as  the  maniac  half  shrieked  out  the 
word  in  sneering  repetition,  he  pointed  to  the  body, 
while  he  cried,  with  a  fierce  laugh,  between  each  pause 
in  his  words — "who! — did  he  not  strike  her — strike 
her  to  the  ground — trample  upon  her  body — great 
God  ! — -upon  her — my  wife  ?"  And,  as  the  accumu- 
lated picture  of  his  wife's  injuries  rose  up  before  his 
mind  while  he  spoke,  his  speech  left  him,  and  he 
choked,  till  his  face  grew  livid  in  their  sight,  and  yet 
he  had  no  tears.  He  soon  recovered  enough  to  speak 
again  with  something  like  a  show  of  calmness. 

"  You  said  you  were  my  friend — that  you  would 
bring  him  to  me — that  I  should  kill  him  here — here, 
even  while  mine  eyes  yet  looked  upon  her.  Liar ! 
where  is  he  ?     Why  have  you  not  brought  him  ?" 

"  I  am  no  liar,  Frampton,  and  you  know  it.  I  never 
promised  to  bring  the  dragoons  to  you ;  but  I  am  wil- 
ling to  lead  you  to  them." 

"  Do  1  want  a  leader  for  that? — you  shall  see  :"  and 
he  relapsed  after  this  reply  into  the  same  solemn  stu- 
por which  had  marked  his  looks  at  the  first  coming 
of  the  two.  Humphries  proceeded  with  temper  and 
coolness — 

"  It  is  time,  Frampton,  to  be  a  man — to  bear  up  against 
your  losses,  and  think  how  to  have  revenge  for  them." 

"  I  am  ready.  Speak  not  to  me  of  revenge — speak 
not ;  I  am  thirsting — thirsting  for  blood  !"  was  the  reply. 

"  Yet,  here  you  sit  moping  over  your  losses, 
while  the  red-coats  are  in  the  swamp — ay,  hunting  us 
out  in  our  own  grounds — Huck's  dragoons,  with  Travis 
at  their  head." 

The  man  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.  There  was 
a  wild  glow  now  visible  in  his  face,  which  completely 
superseded  the  sombre  fixedness  of  its  previous  expres- 
sion.    All  now  was  summary  impatience. 

"  Come  !"  said  he,  waving  his  hand  impatiently,  and 
convulsively  grasping  his  bosom  with  his  fingers — 
•'  come !" 

Vol.  I.— H 


86  THE  PARTISAN. 

"  It  is  well.  I  now  see  you  are  in  the  right  mood 
for  vengeance,  and  I  have  made  all  arrangements  for 
it.  Here  is  a  sword ;  and  this,  Frampton,  is  om-  com- 
mander. Major  Singleton.  He  is  now  our  leader,  and 
will  put  us  in  the  dragoons'  tracks  in  short  order." 

'I'he  maniac  turned  stupidly  to  Smgleton,  and  bend- 
ing his  head  with  a  strange  simper  on  his  lips,  simply 
repeated  the  word  "  Come  !"  with  which  he  showed  his 
willingness  for  the  adventure.  Humphries  whispered 
Major  Singleton  to  take  him  at  his  word,  and  move  him 
off  to  the  rest  of  the  party,  while  he  gave  directions 
for  the  interment  of  the  body.  Singleton  did  so,  and 
without  any  show  of  reluctance,  Frampton  followed 
him.  Once  did  he  stop  suddenly,  turn  quickly  round, 
and  seem  about  to  retrace  his  steps ;  but  seeing  it, 
Singleton  simply  observed,  as  if  to  himself — 

"  We  shall  soon  be  upon  the  dragoons,  and  then — " 

The  object  was  gained,  and  the  distracted,  desolate 
creature  followed,  like  a  tame  dog,  the  lead  of  his  com- 
mander. He  listened  in  gloomy  silence  to  the  ar- 
rangements, as  they  were  agreed  upon,  for  the  encounter 
with  Travis.  He  knew  enough  of  that  sort  of  fighting 
to  see  that  they  were  judiciously  made  ;  and,  satisfied 
with  the  promise  which  they  conveyed  to  his  mind  of 
the  revenge  which  he  desired,  he  offered  no  suggestion, 
nor  interfered  in  the  slightest  degree  with  any  of  their 
plans.  Still,  not  a  word  which  had  been  uttered 
among  them  escaped  his  appreciation.  He  was  now 
fully  awakened  to  a  single  object,  and  the  reasoning 
faculties  grew  tributary  to  the  desire  of  his  mood  when 
that  became  concentrated.  He  saw  that  the  proposed 
plans  were  the  best  that  could  be  devised  for  the  en- 
counter, and  he  looked  to  that  now  for  the  satisfaction 
of  his  thirst. 

Humphries  having  given  his  directions  duly  for  the 
interment  of  the  body,  now  returned  to  join  in  the  de- 
liberations with  the  rest.  His  opinion  was  adopted  by 
Major  Singleton,  who,  giving  orders  that  all  things 
should  be  in  readiness,  himself  saw  to  the  execution 
of  certain  minor   resolves,  and   then  dispersing  his 


THE    PARTISAN.  87 

sentries,  proceeded  to  enjoy  the  three  hours  of  slumber 
which  had  been  allotted  before  the  necessary  start  to 
intercept  Travis. 

It  was  an  hour  after  midnight  when  the  guards 
aroused  them  with  the  preparations  for  their  movement. 
The  night  was  still,  clear,  and  calm.  The  winds  were 
sleeping,  or  only  strove  with  a  di'owsy  movement  along 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  the  highest  above  the  swamp. 
Sweetly  the  murmurs  of  the  creek  around  them,  swol- 
len by  the  influx  of  the  tide  from  the  sea,  which  is 
there  strongly  perceptible,  brolie  upon  the  ear,  as 
the  waters,  in  feeble  ripples,  strove  against  the  little 
island,  and  brought  with  them  a  sense  of  freshness 
from  the  sea,  which  none  feels  more  pleasantly  than  he 
who  has  been  long  wandering  in  the  southern  forests. 
Not  a  lip  had  yet  spoken  among  the  troops,  and  save  the 
slight  cry  of  the  capricious  insect,  and  the  sound  pro- 
duced by  their  own  early  movement  in  bustling  into 
action,  there  was  nothing  in  that  deep  stillness  and 
depth  of  shadow  calculated  in  the  slightest  degree  to 
impair  the  feelings  of  solemnity  which,  in  his  own 
abode.  Silence,  the  most  impressive  of  all  the  forest 
divinities,  exacts  from  his  subjects.  With  a  ready 
alacrity,  obeying  the  command  of  their  leader,  the 
troopers  were  soon  in  saddle,  forming  a  compact  body 
of  twenty  men,  Frampton  and  his  two  sons  included; 
the  very  boys  being  thus  early  taught  in  the  duties  of 
the  partisan.  Following  in  such  order  as  the  inequal- 
ities of  the  swamp  would  permit,  they  were  soon  ad- 
vanced upon  their  route  through  bog  and  through  brier, 
slough,  forest,  and  running  water — a  route,  rugged  and 
circuitous,  and  not  always  without  its  peril.  In  three 
hours,  and  ere  the  daylight  yet  dappled  the  dun  east, 
they  skirted  the  narrow  ridge  where  the  arrangement 
of  Singleton  placed  them,  and  over  which  the  scouting 
party  of  Travis  was  expected  to  pass.  There,  with 
hostile  anxiety,  and  well  prepared,  they  confidently 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  enemy. 


88  THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  There  shall  be  joy  for  this.     Shall  we  not  laugh- 
Laugh  merrily  for  conquest,  when  it  lakes 
The  wolldog  from  our  throats,  and  yields  us  his?" 

Travis,  the  faithful  coadjutor  of  the  tory  Huck, 
was  on  his  march  into  the  swamp  before  dayhght.  As 
Humphries  had  anticipated,  he  took  the  path,  if  so  it 
might  be  called,  on  which  the  ambuscade  had  been 
laid  for  him.  He  might  not  have  done  so,  had  he 
dreamed  for  an  instant  of  the  existence  in  this  quarter 
of  such  a  body  of  men  as  that  now  preparing  to  receive 
him.  Looking  on  his  object,  however,  simply  as  the 
arrest  of  Frampton,  and  the  scouring  of  the  swamp  of 
such  stragglers  besides  as  might  have  been  led  for 
shelter  into  its  recesses,  he  adopted  the  route  which 
was  obviously  most  accessible,  and  most  likely,  there- 
fore, to  be  resorted  to  by  the  merely  skulking  discon- 
tent. The  half-military  eye,  looking  out  for  an  enemy 
in  any  respect  equal,  would  have  either  studiously 
avoided  the  ridge  over  which  Travis  now  presumed  to 
ride,  or  would  have  adopted  some  better  precautions 
than  he  had  troubled  himself  to  take.  It  was  naturally 
a  strong  defile,  well  calculated  for  an  easy  defence,  as 
only  a  small  force  could  possibly  be  of  use  upon  it. 
But  two  persons  could  ride  abreast  in  the  prescribed 
direction,  and  then  only  with  great  difficulty  and  by 
slow  movement ;  for  little  gullies  and  fissures  continu- 
ally intersected  the  path,  which  was  circuitous  and 
winding,  and,  if  not  always  covered  with  water  and 
swamp,  quite  as  difficult  to  overcome,  from  its  luxuriant 
growth  of  umbrage.  Though  an  old  traveller  in  such 
fastnesses,  these  obstructions  were  in  no  sort  pleasant 
to  the  leader  of  the  party,  who,  being  a  notorious 
grumbler,  accompanied  every  step  which  he  took  with 


THE    PARTISAN.  89 

a  grunting  sort  of  commentary,  by  way  of  disapproba- 
tion. 

"  Now,  may  the  devil  take  these  gullies,  that  go  as 
deep  when  you  get  into  them  as  if  they  were  made  for 
him.  This  is  a  day's  chase,  and  the  next  time  Huck 
wants  a  hunt,  he  shall  seek  it  himself.  I  like  not  this 
service.  It's  little  less  than  a  disparagement  of  the 
profession,  and  speaks  not  well  for  an  old  soldier." 

The  leader  spoke  with  feeling,  and  no  little  emphasis, 
as  his  steed  scrambled  up  the  uank  from  the  slough  in 
which  his  legs  had  been  almost  fastened,  the  slimy 
ooze  of  which,  left  by  the  now-receding  tide,  rendering 
the  effort  to  release  himself  a  matter  of  greater  difficulty 
than  usual.  The  grumbling  continued,  even  after  he 
had  gained  the  tussock. 

"  Thou  a  soldier !"  cried  one  who  rode  up  behind 
him,  and  who  spoke  in  terms  of  familiarity  indicating 
close  companionship — "  thou  a  soldier,  Hunks,  indeed  ! 
What  should  make  thee  a  soldier  ?" 

"  Am  I  not,  Clough "?"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  wherefore  dost  thou  grumble,  then  1" 

"Wherefore'?  Because,  being  a  soldier,  I  am  sent 
upon  any  but  a  soldier's  service.  A  dng  might  do  this 
duty — a  dog  that  you  had  well  beaten." 

"  And  what  better  service,  Hunks,  couldst  thou  have 
to  keep  thee  from  grumbling?  Art  thou,  now,  not  a 
sorry  bear  with  a  sore  head,  that  kindness  cannot  coax, 
and  crossing  only  can  keep  civil !  Send  thee  on  what 
service  Huck  may,  it  is  all  the  same  ;  thou  wilt  grumble 
at  the  toil,  even  when  it  likes  thee  best.  What  wouldst 
thou  have — what  would  please  thee  ?" 

"  By  Saint  Jupiter,  but  he  might  ask,  at  least !  He 
might  give  a  man  a  choice,"  responded  the  other, 
gruffly.  "  It's  but  a  small  favour  I  ask,  to  be  suffered 
to  choose  for  myself  whether  I  shall  work  for  my  mas- 
ter on  hill  or  in  hole — with  a  free  bit,  or  hand  to  hand, 
close  struggle  with  a  hungry  alligator  in  his  wallow." 

"  And  thou  wouldst  choose  the  very  service  he  now 
puts  thee  to.  What !  do  we  not  all  know  thee — and 
who  knows  thee  better  than  Huck  ?  He  sees  thou  art 
H3 


90  THE    PARTISAN. 

the  best  man  for  the  swamp ;  that  thy  scent  is  keen 
with  the  bloodhound,  thine  e3'e  like  the  hawk's,  and 
thou  art  quick  for  fight  as  the  colonel's  bullpup.  It  is 
because  he  knows  thou  art  fond  of  this  sort  of  venture 
that  he  puts  thee  upon  it ;  and  what  thou  grumblest  at, 
therefore,  it  will  be  out  of  thine  own  wisdom  to  show, 
even  if  thou  didst  wish  it,  in  truth,  which  I  believe 
not." 

"  It's  a  dog's  life  only,  this  scenting  swamps  for  the 
carrion  they  had  better  keep — wearing  out  good  legs 
and  horses,  and  making  soldiers  do  the  duty  of  a  hungry 
dog.  Rot  it,  but  I'll  resist  after  this !  Let  them  send 
others  that  are  younger,  and  like  it  better.  I'll  give  ii 
up — I'll  do  no  more  of  it." 

"  Say  so  to  Huck,  and  lose  command  of  the  scouts — ■ 
the  best  game  thou  hast  ever  played  at,  if  the  baggage- 
wagons  speak  true,"  was  the  reply.  "  What !  shalt  thou 
grumble  to  do  what  thou  art  best  fitted  for?  What 
wouldst  thou  be  after — what  other  service  would  please 
thee  ?" 

"  Thou  mayst  see  me  in  a  charge  yet,  Sergeant 
Clough,"  replied  Travis,  boastfully,  "  provided  thou 
hast  blood  enough  to  stop  imtil  it's  over.  When  thou 
hast  seen  this,  thou  wilt  ask  me  no  child's  questions. 
What !  because  I  am  good  at  the  swamp,  am  I  there- 
fore worth  nothing  on  the  highway  ?  It  were  a  sorry 
soldier  that  could  not  take  clear  track  and  bush  and  bog 
alike,  when  the  case  calls  for  it,  and  do  good  service 
in  all.  But  thou  shalt  see,  some  day,  and  grow 
wiser." 

"  Well,  thou  dost  promise  largely,  like  an  old  debtor  ; 
but,  to  my  mind,  thou  art  just  now  where  thou  shouldst 
be — in  the  swamps ;  for,  truth  to  speak,  thou  lovest 
them — thou  lovest  the  wallow  and  the  slough — the 
thick  ooze  which  the  alligator  loves,  and  the  dry  fern- 
bank  where  he  makes  his  nest ;  thou  lovest  the  terapin 
because  of  his  home,  not  less  than  of  the  good  soup 
which  he  gives  us ;  and  the  ugly  moccasin,  and  the  toad, 
and  the  frog — the  brown  lizard  and  the  green — the 
swamp-spider,  with  its  ropy  house  and  bagging  black 


THE    PARTISAN.  91 

body — all  these  are  favourites  with  thee,  because  thy 
spirit  craves  for  thee  a  home  like  that  which  they 
abide  in." 

"  It  is  a  goodly  place,  with  all  that  company  thou 
speakest  of:  the  air  is  pleasant  to  the  sense,  and  the 
noises — there  is  no  music  like  the  concert  the  frogs 
make  for  thee  at  sunset." 

"  Said  I  not  ?  Why,  man,  thou  quarrellestwith  kind- 
ness when  thou  ravest  at  Huck  for  sending  thee  to  the 
swamp.  Thou  wert  feverish  and  impatient  this  morn- 
ing until  thou  wert  fairly  in  it,  with  its  mud  and  water 
plashing  around  thee  ;  and  now  thou  art  here,  with  the 
trees  crowding  upon  us  so  thickly  that  the  sun  looks 
not  under  them  once  in  the  whole  year,  thou  creepest 
like  a  terapin  upon  thy  journey,  as  if  thou  didst  greatly 
fear  thou  wouldst  too  quickly  get  through  it ;  a  barren 
fear,  this,  for  we  see  but  the  begimiing  :  the  bog  deep- 
ens, and  the  day  grows  darker  as  we  go.  Tiiou  art 
slow,  Travis." 

"  Saint  Jupiter,  Master  Clough,  wouldst  thou  lead  ? 
Thou  art  a  better  swamp-sucker  than  Ned  Travis,  and 
he  born,  as  I  may  say,  in  a  bush  and  cradled  in  a  bog, 
and  his  first  breeches,  like  n1<?ther  Eve's  petticoat, 
made  out  of  bulrushes  !    Go  to,  friend,  and  be  modest !" 

"  Ay,  when  thou  art  wise,  and  can  go  without  coun- 
sel. Once  more,  Travis,  but  I  do  think  thy  snail's  pace 
were  better  mended." 

"Teach  Goose  Creek,  would  you?  Talk  not  so 
loudly.  Sergeant  Clough,  of  running  through  the  Cy- 
press, or  the  gray-squirrel  will  look  down  and  laugh. 
He's  up  betimes  this  morning,  and  knows  more  of  a 
long  leap  through  a  broad  swamp  like  this  of  the  Ashley 
than  comes  to  thy  wisdom.  Speak  before  him  with 
becoming  reverence,  for  he  watches  thee  from  the  pine- 
top  above  thee." 

The  sergeant,  who  was  an  Englishman,  looked 
upward  with  due  simplicity,  and  received  in  his  face 
the  dismembered  and  decayed  branch  which  the  playful 
animal  threw  down,  as  he  leaped  away  from  the  tree 
they  were  passing. 


92  THE    PARTISAN. 

•'  Now,  d — n  the  rebel !  That  were  a  hanging  matter 
for  one  of  Washington's  cavalry." 

"  Ay,  could  you  catch  him  !"  replied  Travis,  with  3 
laugh  at  the  discomfiture  of  his  companion,  who  busied 
himself  in  freeing  his  face  from  the  dust  of  the  decayed 
branch. 

"  See  what  thou  gettest  for  thy  stupidity.  Think 
you  gray-jacket  knew  not  all  you  were  saying?  He 
did :  not  a  word  escaped  him ;  and,  believe  it  or  not, 
his  tribe  have  quite  as  much  understanding  as  we, 
though,  to  be  sure,  they  have  not  the  same  tongue  to 
make  it  known.  It's  a  God's  truth,  now,  that  squirrel 
has  been  outstanding  sentinel  for  his  company,  just  as 
ours  watches  for  us  ;  and  look  where  they  go,  all  around 
us,  and  all  in  the  same  direction  !  See  to  yon  pine, 
how  full  of  them  !  It  bends  and  shakes,  big  as  it  is,  as 
they  leap  off  to  the  next  tree.  They  are  all  off,  just  as 
the  sentinel  gave  them  notice.  Every  now  and  then, 
as  we  drew  nigh,  he  piped  up  squeak  after  squeak,  and 
every  one  different,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Now  they 
come — nigher,  nigher,  nigher  !' — and  when  he  thought 
it  time  to  move,  he  tumbled  the  dry  branch  into  your 
open  mouth,  and  made  off  with  his  last  signals." 

"  Pshaw  !  what  nonsense  you  talk  !" 

"  Nonsense !  Saint  Jupiter,  but  it's  true  as  turpentine  ! 
There's  no  truth,  if  that  be  not.  Why,  man,  I  go  far- 
ther :  I  do  believe,  in  my  conscience,  that  they  under- 
stand arithmetic  and  navigation.  Don't  you  think  he 
told  his  fellows  how  many  we  were,  and  what  route 
'  over  the  water  we  were  going  to  take  ?  You  see  they 
have  taken  a  different  direction  altogether." 

"  You  think  I  swallow  your  fool  stories  V  said 
Clough. 

"  Quite  as  easy  to  swallow,  and  better  food  than  the 
branch  the  squirrel  threw  thee  :  but  if  thou  believe  not, 
I  care  not.  Rot  thee,  for  an  infidel,  having  as  little 
belief  as  brains !  Thou  art  worse  than  Turk  or  He- 
brew, and  should  have  no  water  from  me  wert  thou 
famishing." 

"  Thou  canst  scarce  deny  it  here,"  was  the  reply,  as 


THE    PARTISAN.  93 

the  squad,  one  after  the  other,  struggled  through  a  quag- 
mire that  spread  across  the  path. 

"  Nor  would  I  here  ;  I  am  charitable  :  take  thy  fill 
of  what  is  before  thee.  But  hold  up,  men  ;  we  are  on 
the  broad  track.  This  tussock  runs  for  a  hundred  yards, 
widening  to  a  fork;  and  I've  a  mind  that  you  shall" 
go  through  the  worst  part  of  it,  Sergeant  Clough,  that 
you  may  get  more  wisdom  in  swamp-sucking.  Close 
up,  men — up!" 

They  passed  over  the  broad  path  in  a  few  moments, 
until  they  reached  a  point  from  which  ran  out  another 
route,  clearly  indicated  upon  the  sky,  by  an  opening 
through  the  trees,  which  let  in,  for  the  first  time  after 
their  entrance,  the  unobstructed  sunlight. 

"To  the  right  now,  men — to  the  right!  It's  the 
worst  track,  but  carries  us  soonest  to  the  heart  of  the 
swamp,  and  we  can  pass  it  now  without  swimming: 
the  waters  are  going  down,  and  it  will  not  be  so  bad, 
after  all." 

"  Is  it  worse,  Travis,  than  what  we  have  passed?" 
inquired  Clough,  rather  anxiously. 

"  Worse  !"  exclaimed  Travis,  turning  shortly  upon 
the  speaker,  with  a  sneer;  "Saint  Jupiter!  said  I  not 
you  should  learn  swamp-sucking  ?  You'll  drink  before 
you  come  out.     But  the  water's  fresh." 

■'  Fresh,  here  in  the  swamp  ?" 

"  Ay,  fresh  enough — fresh  from  the  sea,  unless  the 
tide's  gone  clean  down.  But  on  ;  do  not  fear ;  it  looks 
worse  than  it  tastes.      On,  and  follow  me  close  !" 

They  dashed  after  their  leader  as  he  gave  the  word, 
but  their  progress  was  much  slower  than  before. 

In  the  mean  while,  let  us  turn  our  eyes  upon  the 
party  in  waiting  for  them.  Following  the  suggestions 
of  his  lieutenant,  Humphries,  Major  Singleton  had  dis- 
posed of  his  men  at  convenient  distances  for  mutual 
support  along  the  more  accessible  ridge  which  the  party 
of  Travis  had  originally  pursued.  The  design  had 
been  a  good  one  ;  for  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that 
one  who  had  shown  himself  so  careful  in  selecting  the 
least  obstructed  route,  would  willingly  leave  it,  in  pref- 


94  THE    PARTISAN. 

erence  to  another,  so  indirect  and  difficult  of  passage 
as  that  upon  which  Travis  had  now  turned  his  horse. 
The  ambuscade  had  been  well  laid,  and  must  have 
been  successful,  but  for  this  circumstance.  Major 
Singleton  himself,  being  in  advance,  was  the  first  to 
perceive  this  change  of  movement,  which,  taking  place 
just  when  his  anxieties  were  most  aroused,  was  pro- 
ductive of  an  exaggerated  degree  of  disappointment. 
He  cried  out  to  Humphries,  who  lurked  in  a  low  bush 
on  the  opposite  bank,  and  saw  not  so  readily  — 

"  They  leave  the  track,  Humphries  !  they  have  turned 
off  to  the  right — we  are  foiled  !" 

The  lieutenant  rose  from  his  recumbent  position, 
and  saw  the  truth  of  his  commander's  suggestion.  To 
effect  a  change  of  ambuscade  at  this  moment  was  hope- 
less ;  and  there  remained  but  one  mode,  and  that  was, 
to  persuade  them  to  return  to  the  path  from  which 
they  departed.  At  first,  he  thought  to  throw  himself 
immediately  in  their  way  ;  and,  being  well  known,  and 
looked  upon  as  loyal  by  all  the  dragoons,  he  thought 
he  might  lure  them  back  by  misrepresentations  of  one 
kind  or  another.  This  thought  he  abandoned,  however, 
as  he  still  desired  to  keep  himself  from  detection,  which 
he  could  not  hope,  should  any  of  them  escape  to  tell 
the  story. 

"  There  is  but  one  way,  major,"  he  exclaimed,  while 
smearing  his  visage  with  the  mud  around  him,  and 
leaping  boldly  forth  on  foot  upon  the  broad  path — 
"  there  is  but  one  way,  sir :  keep  your  men  fast,  Avhile 
I  make  myself  visible  to  Travis.  I  will  run  upon  the 
bank,  and  make  them  hear  me.  They  will  follow  the 
tussock,  and,  by  the  time  I  am  in  cover,  you  will  have 
them  between  you.     The  rest  of  the  work  is  yours." 

He  waited  not  for  an  answer,  but  the  next  instant 
was  seen  by  Singleton  coursing  along  the  tussock 
towards  the  route  taken  by  Travis.  When  upon  the 
highest  point,  and  perceptible  to  them,  he  broke  a  dried 
stick,  with  a  sharp,  snapping  sound,  which  reached  the 
quick  ear  of  their  leader.  Travis  turned  instantly,  and 
ordered  a  halt. 


THE    PARTISAN.  95 

"  Hold  up,  men — hold  up  a  moment !  See  you  no- 
thing to  the  left?" 

All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  required  direction,  but 
they  failed  to  distinguish  any  object  in  particular,  other 
than  belonged  to  the  region. 

"  Look,  Clough,  your  eyes  are  younger  than  mine — 
look  to  the  left,  beyond  the  big  water-oak,  close  by  the 
blasted  pine — the  very  highest  point  of  the  tussock  we 
just  left." 

"  I  see,  I  see  I"  cried  one  of  the  troopers  :  "  it's  a 
man." 

"  Now  I  have  it !  You  are  right,  Wilkins — it's  a 
man — a  stout  fellow,  and  must  be  Frampton,"  cried 
Clough  ;  "  the  very  dog  we  seek." 

"  No,  'tis  not  the  man  we  seek,"  was  the  reply  of 
Travis,  who  had  been  watching  intently.  "  This  is  a 
short  stout  man,  not  of  more  inches  than  myself;  Framp- 
ton, though  stout,  is  tall.  But  he  is  our  game,  be  he 
who  he  may.  All  are  outlaws  here,  and  rebels  for 
the  rope.  Here,  Corporal  Dricks,  have  your  string  in 
readiness :  we  shall  doubtless  need  a  cast  of  your 
office,  and  the  noose  should  be  free  for  service.  Ride 
close,  and  be  ready.  Ha !  he  scents — he  sees  us  ! 
He  is  on  the  wing,  and  we  must  be  quick  and  cautious. 
After  him,  Clough,  to  the  left — right,  Wilkins  I  Get 
upon  the  tussock,  and,  if  he  keeps  it,  you  have  him. 
Ride,  boys  !  To  the  left,  Clough — to  the  left !  He 
can't  clear  the  pond,  and  we  are  sure  of  him !" 

Half  of  the  troops  dashed  after  the  suspicious  person, 
who  was  our  acquaintance  Humphries  ;  the  other  half, 
slowly  returning,  re-entered  the  old  trail,  and  kept  their 
way  towards  the  flying  object  and  the  pursuit.  The 
lieutenant  found  no  difficulty  in  misleading  his  pursuers, 
having  once  drawn  them  back  to  their  original  direction. 
They  urged  the  chase  hotly  upon  him,  but  he  knew 
his  course,  and  was  cool  and  confident.  Doubling 
continually  through  bog  and  through  brier — now  behind 
this,  now  under  that  clump  of  foliage  or  brush — he  con- 
trived to  boggle  them  continually  in  perpetual  intrica- 
cies, each  more  difficult  than  the  other,  until  he  not 


96  THE    PARTISAN. 

only  led  them  into  the  very  thick  of  the  ambuscading 
party,  still  maintaining  his  original  lead  upon  them,  but 
he  scattered  them  so  far  asunder,  that  mutual  assistance 
became  impossible.  It  was  then  that,  gathering  him- 
self up  for  breath  along  the  edge  of  a  bank,  he  coolly 
wiped  the  moisture  from  his  brows,  looking  from  side 
to  side,  as  he  heard  the  splashing  in  the  water  or  the 
rustling  in  the  brush  of  his  bewildered  pursuers.  He, 
meanwhile,  fairly  concealed  from  their  sight  by  a  thick 
cluster  of  cypresses  that  rose  out  of  the  bay  before  him, 
conceiving  the  time  to  have  arrived  for  action,  gave  the 
shrill  whistle  with  which  his  men  were  familiar.  The 
pursuers  heard  it  reverberate  all  around  them  from  a 
dozen  echoes  of  the  swamp ;  they  gave  back,  and 
there  was  a  pause  in  the  chase,  as  if  by  common  con- 
sent. The  sound  had  something  supernatural  and 
chilling  in  it ;  and  the  instinct  of  each,  but  a  moment 
before  so  hot  upon  the  heels  of  the  outlaw,  was  now  to 
regain  his  starting-place,  and  recover  his  security  with 
his  breath.  But  retreat  was  not  so  easy,  and  prudence 
counselled  too  late-  They  made  the  effort,  however ; 
but  to  succeed  was  denied  them.  The  word  of  com- 
mand reached  their  ears  in  another  voice  than  that  of 
their  own  leader,  and  in  the  next  instant  came  the  sharp 
cracking  report  of  the  rifle — two,  three,  four.  Travis 
went  down  in  the  first  shot :  they  beheld  his  fall  dis- 
tinctly, as  he  stood  upon  the  highest  point  of  the  ridge, 
which  was  visible  for  a  hundred  yards  round.  For  a 
moment  more,  the  enemy  remained  invisible  ;  bur  Major 
Singleton  now  gave  his  orders  shrilly  and  coolly — 
"  Steady,  men — in  file,  open  order — trot !"  And  then 
came  the  rush  of  the  charge,  and  the  stragglers  beheld 
the  flashing  sabres  dealing  with  the  few  troopers  who 
held  the  broad  ridge  of  the  tussock.  The  tories  fought 
well ;  but  the  surprise  was  too  sudden,  and  too  little 
prepared  for,  and  they  fought  at  disadvantage.  Still, 
as  they  remembered  the  unsparing  character  of  their 
own  warfare,  and  were  conscious  of  innumerable  out- 
rages, such  as  had  driven  Frampton  to  outlawry,  they 
stood  their  ground  bravely  enough.     Parrying  the  first 


THE    PARTISAN.  97 

Strokes  of  their  assailants,  who  had  every  advantage, 
they  dashed  aside  from  the  path,  and  strove  to  escape 
by  plunging  in  every  direction  through  the  swamp. 
But  with  the  loss  of  the  ridge,  which  Singleton  with 
his  few  troopers  now  traversed  in  all  directions,  they 
lost  all  chance  of  extrication.  They  floundered  from 
slough  to  slough,  while,  dismounting  and  on  foot,  the 
■^  whigs  pursued  them.  The  cry  for  quarter  on  all  hands 
ended  the  combat,  and  the  survivors  were  drawn  forth 
to  become  prisoners.  They  threw  down  their  arms 
generally,  and  were  spared  ;  one  who  resisted  was  cut 
down  by  Davis,  who  had  shown  himself  a  true  man  in 
close  contest ;  and  one  strove  to  escape  by  turning  back 
upon  his  path,  and  plunging  on  through  the  swamp  in 
an  opposite  direction  to  that  taken  by  the  rest :  but 
there  was  an  eye  upon  him,  quickened  by  hate,  and  a 
deadly  hostility  which  nothing  could  blind — a  footstep 
which  he  could  not  evade.  The  fugitive  was  the  san- 
guinary corporal  of  Huck — a  wretch  who  always  car- 
ried the  cord  at  his  saddle-bow  for  sudden  executions, 
and  enjoyed  nothing  so  well  as  its  employment.  His 
pursuer  was  the  maniac  Frampton.  That  fierce  man 
had  singled  out  this  one  antagonist,  and  throughout  the 
brief  struggle,  in  which  he  bore  an  active  part,  had 
never  once  withdrawn  his  glance  from  him.  But  for 
this,  the  wretch  might  have  escaped ;  and  even  then, 
had  not  guilt  or  fear  paralyzed  his  energy  or  judgment, 
his  chances  might  have  been  good ;  but  he  held  too 
long  to  his  horse,  and  lost  that  time,  in  trying  to  urge 
him  along  the  track  he  had  taken,  which  on  foot  might 
have  availed  him  more  effectually.  The  animal  became 
entangled  in  some  water-vines,  and  before  he  could  get 
him  free,  or  even  get  from  his  back,  the  pursuer  was 
plunging  into  the  swamp,  with  drawn  sword  waving 
overhead,  and  but  a  few  paces  from  him.  Leaping 
from  his  steed,  which  he  left  struggling,  he  made  for 
the  opposite  bank,  and  reached  it  before  Frampton  had 
yet  got  through  the  slough.  But  even  this  advantage 
did  not  serve  him  long.  Though  brave  enough,  the 
corporal  seemed  at  that  moment  to  lack  much  of  his 
Vol.  I.— I 


98  THE    PARTISAN. 

wonted  firmness.  Probably  he  knew  the  pursuer,  had 
heard  his  story,  and  dreaded  his  vengeance.  It  was 
not  improbable,  indeed,  that  he  himself  had  been  one 
of  those  concerned  in  the  assault  upon  Frampton's  wife. 
If  so,  the  flight  of  the  one  and  the  concentrated  pursuit 
of  the  other  were  both  natural  enough.  Guilt  must 
always  despair  its  charm  in  the  presence  of  the  true 
avenger.  Still,  for  a  moment,  there  was  a  show  of 
spirit.  He  wheeled,  and  confronted  the  pursuer  with  a 
word  of  defiance  ;  but  the  moment  after,  he  turned  again 
in  flight.  He  ran  over  the  tussock  upon  which  both 
of  them  now  stood,  and,  bounding  through  a  pond  that  lay 
m  his  way,  made  off  for  a  close  cover  of  cypresses  that 
grew  at  a  little  distance.  Should  he  gain  that  cover, 
his  safety  would  most  probably  be  certain,  as  he  would 
then  have  gained  on  Frampton,  and  had  long  since  been 
out  of  reach  of  the  rest.  But  if  the  one  ran  with  the 
speed  of  fear,  madness  gave  wings  to  the  other.  The 
fugitive  looked  over  his  shoulder  once  as  he  flew,  and 
he  could  see  in  the  eye  of  his  pursuer  that  there 
was  no  pity,  but  death ;  and  utterly  vain  must  be 
his  cry  for  quarter.  Perhaps  he  felt  a  conviction  of 
this  from  a  due  consciousness  of  what  he  had  deserved 
from  his  own  atrocities.  The  thought  increased  his 
speed  ;  but,  though  capable  and  elastic  enough,  he  could 
not  escape  the  man  who  rushed  behind  him.  Defying 
wood,  water,  and  every  obstruction,  the  fierce  wretch 
pressed  close  upon  the  fugitive.  The  corporal  felt  the 
splashing  of  the  water  from  his  adversary's  feet ;  he 
knew  that  the  next  moment  must  be  followed  by  the 
whirl  of  the  sabre,  and  he  sank  motionless  to  the  ground. 
The  blow  went  clean  over  him  ;  but  though  it  carried 
Frampton  beyond  him,  yet  he  did  not  fall.  The  maniac 
soon  recovered,  and  confronted  the  corporal,  who  now 
found  it  impossible  to  fly  :  his  hope  was  in  fight  only. 
But  what  was  his  lifted  weapon  against  that  of  his 
opponent,  wielded  by  his  superior  strength,  made  ter- 
rible by  madness  !  The  sword  was  dashed  aside — 
dashed  down  in  the  heavy  sweeping  stroke  with  which 
the  other  prefaced  the  conflict. 


THE    PARTISAN.  99 

^'  Mercy  !  mercy !"  cried  the  corporal,  as  he  saw  that 
it  was  all  over.  A  howl  like  that  of  the  wolf  was  the 
only  response,  and  the  weapon  bit  through  the  bone  as 
the  arm  was  miavailingly  thrown  up  to  resist  it.  The 
stricken  member  hung  only  by  the  skin  and  a  part  of 
the  coat-sleeve.     The  steel  was  already  in  the  air — 

"  Mercy,  Frampton  !  have  mercy — " 

The  speech  was  silenced,  as,  crushing  tlirough  bone 
and  brain,  the  thick  sword  dug  its  way  down  into  the 
very  eyes  of  the  pleader.  The  avenger  knelt  upon  the 
senseless  body,  as  it  lay  at  his  feet,  and  poured  forth ' 
above  it  a  strain  of  impious  thanksgiving  to  Heaven 
for  so  much  granted  and  gained  of  the  desired  ven- 
geance. His  wild,  wolfish  laugh,  at  intervals  while  he 
prayed,  taught  the  rest  of  the  party  where  to  look  for 
him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"It  is  all  dim — the  way  still  stretches  out 
Far  in  the  distance.    We  may  nothing  see, 
Till  comes  the  season  in  the  dawning  hght." 

It  was  an  easy  victory,  and  won  without  loss. 
Wiping  his  bloody  sword  upon  the  mane  of  his  steed, 
Major  Singleton  rode  up  to  his  captives,  who,  by  this 
time,  were  all  properly  secured.  Four  persons  had 
fallen  in  the  conflict,  and  among  these  was  their  leader, 
Travis.  He  was  shot  dead  upon  the  spot.  Clough 
was  severely  wounded  in  the  breast,  though  perhaps 
not  mortally,  and  lay  gasping,  but  without  a  groan, 
upon  the  ground  where  he  had  fallen,  and  around  which 
the  surviving  prisoners  were  grouped.  Three  others 
had  fallen,  either  killed  outright  or  mortally  wounded  : 
two  of  these  by  the  sabre,  not  including  the  corporal, 
who  fell  by  the  hand  of  Frampton,  and  who  was  at 
once  rolled  into  the  swamp.     The  prisoners,  five  in 


100  THE    PARTISAN. 

number,  were  natives,  generally  of  the  very  lowest 
class,  and  just  the  sort  of  men  to  fight,  according  to  the 
necessity  of  the  case,  on  either  side.  Such,  indeed, 
were  the  tories  throughout  the  st^te,  with  very  fev/ 
exceptions.  AVithout  leading  principles,  and  miserably 
poor — not  recognised,  except  as  mercenaries,  in  the  so- 
cial aristocracies  which  must  always  prevail  hi  slave- 
holding  nations — they  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
more  influential  classes, — those  who  were  the  first  to 
resist  the  authority  of  England.  The  love  of  gain, 
the  thirst  for  rapine,  and  that  marauding  and  gipsy  habit 
of  life  which  was  familiar  to  them,  were  all  directly 
appealed  to  in  the  tory  mode  of  warfare.  They  were 
ready  on  any  side  which  offered  them  the  greatest 
chance  for  indulging  in  these  habits ;  and  the  sudden 
preponderance  of  British  power  after  the  fall  of  Charles- 
town  determined  the  major  part  of  this  class  of  people  in 
favour  of  the  invaders.  The  tories  forming  Huck's 
cavalry  were  all  of  this  sort ;  and  the  small  detachment 
just  overthrown  by  Singleton  had  no  sympathy  with 
their  leader,  only  as  his  known  character  promised  them 
plunder.  Defeat  had  no  attraction  in  their  eyes  ;  and, 
as  that  is  always  the  true  cause  which  is  triumphant, 
they  now  freely  tendered  themselves,  with  clamorous 
tongues,  and  to  the  no  small  chagrin  of  the  wounded 
Clough,  as  recruits  for  Singleton.  The  Briton  de- 
nounced their  perfidy  in  fearless  language,  and  threat- 
ened them  terribly  with  the  vengeance  of  Huck  and 
Tarleton  ;  but  the  remote  fear  is  no  fear  with  the  vul- 
gar. They  seldom  think  in  advance  of  the  necessity, 
and  the  exhortation  of  their  wounded  officer  had  no 
visible  effect.  They  persisted  in  their  determination 
to  fight  on  the  right  side,  and  earnestly  asserted  their 
love  of  country,  alleging  that  force  only  had  placed 
them  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  Major  Singleton  con- 
ferred with  Humphries  on  the  course  to  be  taken  in 
this  matter.  The  latter  knew  most  of  the  parties,  but 
had  been  prudent  to  keep  from  sight,  and  they  had  not 
seen  him,  only  in  the  brief  glimpse  which  they  had  of 
him  in  the  pursuit,  when,  at  such  a  distance,  perpetu- 


THE    PARTISAN.  101 

ally  moving,  and  with  his  face  well  smeared  with  the 
rank  ooze  from  the  creek  aromid  him,  he  must  have  been 
unknown,  except  upon  the  narrowest  examination,  even 
to  the  mother  that  had  borne  him.  It  was  still  his  pol- 
icy to  keep  from  sight  in  connection  with  his  whig  par- 
tisans ;  for,  passing  in  Dorchester  as  a  loyal  citizen — 
a  character  in  part  obtained  through  his  father's  loudly- 
voiced  attachment  to  the  existing  powers — he  was  of 
far  greater  advantage  to  the  cause  of  the  country  than 
he  possibly  could  have  been  even  in  active  military  ser- 
vice. He  obtained  intelligence  with  singular  adroit- 
ness, conveyed  it  with  despatch,  and  planned  enter- 
prises upon  what  he  knew,  with  no  little  tact  and  inge- 
nuity. To  remain  unknown,  therefore,  or  only  known 
as  he  had  been  heretofore,  in  close  coimection  with 
loyalty  alone,  was  clearly  the  policy  of  our  lieutenant. 

There  was  one  man  from  whom  Humphries  seemed 
willing  to  withhold  his  confidence.  He  coimselled  his 
commander  to  accept  the  services  of  the  remaining 
four,  recommending  that  they  should  be  so  distributed 
among  the  men  who  had  been  tried,  as  to  defeat  any 
concert  between  them,  should  they  feel  any  motive  to 
disaffection.  In  this  mamier  it  was  also  thought  a 
proper  bias  would  be  given  to  their  minds,  which,  as 
they  both  knew,  were  sufficiently  flexible  to  find  but 
little  difficulty  in  conforming  to  any  circumstances 
which  should  for  a  moment  take  the  shape  of  a  ne- 
cessity. 

"  But  the  fifth — the  other  fellow — the  blear-eyed — 
what  of  him?     You  say  nothing  of  him,  Humphries." 

Singleton  pointed  through  the  copse  as  he  spoke, 
where  the  individual  referred  to  leaned  against  a  tree, 
a  little  apart  from  the  rest ;  his  head  cast  down,  his 
arms  relaxed  beside  him,  one  leg  at  ease,  while  the 
whole  weight  of  his  body  rested  upon  the  other.  The 
features  of  his  face  were  dark  and  unprepossessing — 
dark  and  sallow  ;  his  cheeks  lank  and  colourless  ;  a 
small  nose  ;  retreating  forehead,  covered  with  long  thin 
black  hair,  that  streamed  from  imder  a  broad  white  hat, 
something  the  worse  for  wear.  A  strange  protrusion  of 
12 


102  THE    PARTISAN. 

his  eyes  gave  his  face  a  sinister  expression,  which  was 
not  before  lacking  to  produce  distrust,  or  even  dislike, 
in  the  mind  of  the  observer.  Humphries  gazed  on 
him  a  moment  before  he  spoke,  then,  as  if  satisfied,  he 
proceeded  to  reply — 

"  I  know  nothing  against  the  chap  , major;  but  the 
truth  is,  I  don't  like  him.  Indeed,  I  know  nobody  that 
does.  His  right  name  is  Blonay,  but  we  all  know 
him  better  by  the  name  of  Goggle — a  nickname  which 
he  got  on  account  of  his  eyes.  Something  has  hurt 
them  Avhen  young,  which,  you  see,  makes  him  stare 
when  he  looks  at  you." 

"  Well,  but  we  must  not  refuse  him  because  he  has 
got  a  blear  eye  ;  we  are  too  much  in  need  of  men  to 
stand  upon  trifles.     Know  you  nothing  against  him  ]" 

"  The  blood's  bad  that's  in  him.  His  father  was  a 
horse-thief,  and  they  do  say,  a  mulatto  or  an  Indian. 
As  for  himself,  the  worst  is,  that  we  know  nothing 
about  him  ;  and  that's  no  good  sign,  major,  in  a  country 
where  everybody  knows  the  business  of  everybody. 
How  he  lives,  and  where  and  by  what  means  he  gets 
his  bread,  is  a  secret.  He  will  not  work ;  but  see 
him  when  you  will,  you  see  him  as  you  see  him  now 
— one  half  of  him  sleeping,  while  the  other  half  takes 
the  watch.  Not  that  he  can't  move  when  the  time 
comes  for  it — or  rather  when  he's  in  the  humour  for  it. 
Touch  him  close  upon  his  goggle  eye,  and  he's  up  in 
arms  in  a  moment.  He  will  fight  like  a  wildcat,  too, 
and  that's  in  his  favour ;  but  the  worst  is,  he  fights 
with  a  bad  heart,  and  loves  to  remember  injuries.  I  do 
believe  they  keep  him  from  sleep  at  ^ight.  He's  not 
like  Carolinians  in  that ;  he  can't  Icnock  at  once  and 
have  done  with  it,  but  he  goes  to  bed  to  think  about  it, 
and  to  plan  when  to  knock,  so  as  never  to  have  done 
with  it.  He  loves  to  keep  his  wrongs  alive,  so  that  he 
may  always  be  revenging." 

"  Still,  I  see  nothing,  lieutenant,  that  should  make  us 
discourage  his  desires  ;  and,  truth  to  say,  it  is  far 
easier  for  us  now  to  keep  doubtful  friends  in  our 
ranks,  moving  with  us,  and  continually  under  our  eye, 


THE    PARTISAN.  103 

than  positive  enemies  in.  our  camp  in  the  form  of  pris- 
oners, whom  we  are  bound  to  keep  guard  over.  We 
can  manage  our  allies  if  they  show  signs  of  bad  faith, 
although  we  risk  something,  doubtless,  even  by  the  par- 
tial confidence.  Better  do  this  than  break  up  our  little 
force  watching  those  who  profess  themselves  friends, 
and  may  yet  prove  so." 

"  You  may  be  right,  major,  and  I  only  speak  perhaps 
from  an  old  prejudice  ;  but  keep  an  eye  upon  him,  for 
he  certainly  will  keep  one  on  you.  Even  now  he  is 
looking  slyly  to  this  bush,  although  he  can't  see  or  hear 
either  of  us,  but,  after  the  old  fashion,  to  find  out  what 
he  can.  If  he  were  only  honest,  he'd  be  a  spy  among 
a  thousand." 

"  I  will  see  to  him  in  particular,  and  if  it  be  possible 
to  drill  honesty  into  him,  something  may  be  got  out  of 
him  yet.     We  must  take  him." 

"  Very  good,  sir ; — and  you  now  go  back  into  the 
camp  ?" 

"  Yes :  we  must  put  the  woimded  man  into  some 
sort  of  care,  though  he  will  suffer,wanting  attendance." 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  sir.  You  take  him  into  camp, 
and  I  have  two  men  to  come  out  this  very  day,  one  of 
whom  is  a  sort  of  doctor — good  as  any  one  hereabout. 
He  used  to  drench  horses  in  Dorchester ;  and  some 
of  the  grannies  did  say,  that  there  were  no  drinks  like 
those  made  by  Doctor  Oakenburg — that  was  because 
he  put  more  of  brandy  in  them  than  any  thing  else ; 
and  if  a  Dorchester  granny  loves  one  thing  more  than 
another,  after  opium,  it  is  brandy ;  and  sometimes, 
liking  them  equally  well,  she  takes  both  together.  He, 
major,  and  the  old  negro,  with  some  one  of  the  troop, 
will  be  guard  enough,  and  Frampton's  son  Lance  cau 
stay  with  them  in  the  swamp.  He's  quite  too  young  to 
be  of  much  service,  and  will  only  learn  what's  bad, 
going  with  the  troop." 

"  1  have  thought  better  of  that,  and  shall  endeavour 
to  attach  the  boy  to  myself,  and  probably,  in  the  end, 
place  him  at  '  The  Oaks'  with  my  uncle.  But  time 
wears,  and  we  must  move  for  the  camp.     I  shall  take 


104  THE    PARTISAN. 

these  men  into  service,  and  place  the  wounded  man 
under  the  charge  of  one  of  the  troopers,  and  your  doc- 
tor can  relieve  him." 

"  He  comes  to-day,  with  another — a  fat  overgrown 
creature,  just  fit  for  the  camp,  though  he  fights  well  and 
is  true,"  was  the  reply  of  Humphries. 

Having  thus  counselled,  the  two  proceeded  to  confer 
apart  upon  other  matters  connected  with  their  enter- 
prise. To  visit  "  The  Oaks"  during  the  day,  where  his 
uncle  and  sister  resided,  was  the  object  of  Singleton ; 
but  his  desire  was  also  to  intercept  the  supply  of  arms 
and  ammunition  of  which  Huck  had  spoken  as  on  their 
way  to  Dorchester.  They  were  looked  for  hourly,  and 
could  not  be  very  remote.  It  was  determined,  there- 
fore, to  intercept  them,  if  practicable,  as  an  acquisition 
of  the  last  importance.  To  arrange  their  route,  plan 
the  place  of  their  next  meeting,  provide  the  means  of  in- 
telligence, and  concert  what  local  measures  might 
seem  necessary  in  future,  was  the  work  of  but  little 
time  between  the  two ;  and  this  done,  Humphries, 
withdrawing  silently  from  the  cover  in  which  this  con- 
ference had  been  carried  on,  unperceived  by  the  rest, 
made  his  way  by  a  different  route  out  of  the  swamp, 
and  keeping  the  forest  all  the  way,  was,  after  no  long 
time,  safely  in  Dorchester — looking  for  all  the  world  as 
pacific  and  quiet  as  ever — without  weapon  of  any 
kind,  as,  with  a  wonted  precaution,  he  had  left  his 
sword  in  the  woods,  safely  hidden,  and  his  hands  now 
grasped  only  the  common  wagon-whip,  which  he 
handled  with  a  dexterity  which  seemed  to  indicate  but 
'little  acquaintance  with  any  more  dangerous  or  deadly 
instruments. 

Major  Singleton,  in  the  mean  while,  had  returned  to 
his  troop.  They  had  been  busied  during  his  absence 
in  collecting  the  scattered  horses  and  arms,  and  re- 
pairing their  own  little  losses.  The  captives  were 
loud  in  their  desire  to  be  received  among  them  ;  and,  as 
rebellion  loves  company,  the  whigs  were  not  unwilling 
to  receive  an  accession,  even  from  their  late  enemies. 
Major  Singleton  declared  his  acceptance  of  their  ser- 


THE    PARTISAN.  105 

vices,  taking  care  to  address  himself  particularly  to 
the  man  Blonay,  or,  as  they  styled  him  more  familiarly, 
Goggle.  An  awkward  touch  of  the  hat  acknowledged 
this  last  courtesy,  and  one  eye  of  Goggle,  as  he  made 
the  movement,  peered  up  into  those  of  Singleton  with 
a  searching  and  doubtful  glance.  The  major  did 
not  appear  to  notice  him  or  them  any  farther,  but, 
giving  directions  for  the  disposal  of  the  wounded  ser- 
geant, Clough,  so  as  to  spare  him  as  much  pain  as  pos- 
sible, he  led  the  way  once  more  to  the  cover  of  the  se- 
cluded place,  in  the  centre  of  the  swamp,  which  had 
been  chosen  as  their  camping-ground.  Here  they  ar- 
rived at  length,  and  having  completed  his  arrange- 
ments, placing  Clough  in  the  charge  of  one  of  his  dra- 
goons, and  in  as  much  comfort  as  possible,  Major  Sin- 
gleton gave  the  word,  and  the  squad  moved  forward  on 
their  way  out  of  the  swamp,  and  in  the  direction  of 
the  village.  But  this  course  was  only  kept  while  he 
yet  remained  in  the  swamp.  As  soon  as  he  emerged 
from  it,  he  drew  up  his  men,  and  then,  for  the  first 
time,  perceived  the  absence  of  the  elder  Frampton. 
The  two  sons  had  kept  with  the  troop,  and  seemed 
to  know  nothing  of  their  father.  The  younger  had  rid- 
den close  beside  his  commander,  who  had  so  willed  it. 
Nobody  could  give  him  any  account  of  the  absent  man 
after  his  removal  from  the  body  of  the  corporal  whom 
he  had  slain.  He  had  disappeared  suddenly  then,  it 
was  thought ;  and  there  were  not  wanting  those  who 
insisted  upon  his  absence  from  that  time  ;  but  Single- 
ton remembered  to  have  seen  him  after  they  had 
reached  the  camp,  and  to  have  noted  the  singular 
composedness  of  his  features.  But  few  farther  in- 
quiries were  made  after  the  absentee,  as  the  major 
well  knew  that  with  a  man  in  such  a  mood  but  little 
could  be  done.  He  was,  perhaps,  perfectly  satis- 
lied  that  nothing  could  have  happened  to  him,  from  the 
composure  of  the  two  sons,  who,  doubtless,  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  father's  movement.  Conjecture  suc- 
ceeded to  inquiry,  only  interrupted  by  the  order  to 
move  on. 


106  THE    PARTISAN. 

The  course  of  the  troop  lay  now  towards  the  Goose 
Creek  road.  Major  Singleton  dared  not  carry  his  squad 
along  the  Ashley  without  exposing  himself,  unnecessa- 
rily, to  unequal  encounter ;  and,  at  Dorchester,  with  a 
force  far  superior  to  his  own.  Pursuing  a  northerly  di- 
rection for  a  while,  therefore,  he  placed  himself  at  equal 
distances  between  the  Wassamasah  and  Dorchester 
roads ;  then  striking  to  the  left,  he  passed  over  an 
untravelled  surface  of  country,  broken  with  frequent 
swamps,  and  crowded  with  luxuriant  undergrowth.  In 
a  few  hours,  however,  he  had  gone  over  the  ground 
almost  unseen,  and  certainly  unobstructed.  Davis  was 
his  guide  in  this  quarter,  and  he  could  not  have  had  a 
better.  The  discarded  lover  had  given  sufficient  ear- 
nest of  his  truth  and  valour,  in  the  courage  and  perfect 
coolness  of  his  conduct  in  the  preceding  struggle ;  and 
he  now  led  the  party  with  all  the  caution  of  the  veteran, 
and  all  the  contidence  of  a  thorough-bred  soldier.  The 
road,  like  all  in  that  country,  was  low  and  miry  ; 
and  the  path  taken  for  greater  security,  being  little  trav- 
elled, was  still  more  troubled  with  obstructions.  They 
reached  the  desired  point  at  length,  which  was  the 
Goose  Greek  Bridge  ;  then  leaving  it  to  the  left,  they 
once  more  departed  from  the  beaten  track,  and  throwing 
themselves  directly  across  the  country,  were,  after  a 
few  hours,  again  upon  the  Dorchester  road,  and  some 
two  or  three  miles  below  the  garrison.  They  covered 
themselves  in  the  close  forest  by  Archdale  Hall,  and 
Singleton  then  proceeded  to  inspect  the  road.  To  his 
great  satisfaction,  he  saw  that  the  wagons  had  not  yet 
made  their  appearance,  and  must  be  still  below  them. 
Overjoyed  at  this,  he  despatched  scouts  to  bring  him 
intelligence,  and  then  proceeded  to  arrange  an  ambush 
for  the  entrapping  of  the  looked-for  detachment. 

The  road,  at  the  spot  chosen  for  this  purpose,  was  nar- 
row— but  a  single  track,  and  that  raised  into  a  causeway 
from  a  ditch  on  either  side,  at  that  time  filled  with 
water,  and  scarcely  passable  without  great  difficulty. 
The  woods,  growing  close  and  thickly,  formed  a  nat- 
ural defile,  of  which  Singleton,  with  the  eye  of  experi* 


THE    PARTISAN*  107 

ence,  soon  availed  himself.  He  divided  his  little  force 
iftto  two  equal  bodies  ;  and  giving  the  command  of  one 
of  them  to  Davis,  placed  him  upon  the  right  of  the 
road  in  the  route  from  Charlestow^n,  while  he  himself 
occupied  the  left.  The  former  division  lying  in  am- 
bush some  thirty  yards  below,  was  ready,  in  the  event  of 
a  struggle  between  the  baggage  guard  and  Singleton's 
troop,  to  which  it  was  to  be  left,  to  secure  the  precious 
charge  which  the  guard  had  undertaken  to  defend,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  cut  off  their  retreat.  Thus  arranged, 
and  with  the  plan  of  conduct  properly  understood  on  all 
hands,  the  parties  lay  in  cover,  impatiently  awaiting 
the  approach  of  the  enemy. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait ;  for  scarcely  had  their 
arrangements  been  well  completed,  before  the  scouts 
came  at  full  gallop  along  the  path,  crying  loudly  that 
the  enemy  was  at  hand.  A  shot  or  two  whistled  over 
the  heads  of  the  fugitives  at  the  same  moment,  giving 
full  confirmation  to  their  intelligence ;  and  a  few  seconds 
after,  the  rush  of  half  a  score  of  British  dragoons  was 
heard  upon  their  footsteps.  Passing  through  the  ambus- 
cade without  pausing  for  an  instant,  the  scouts  kept  on 
their  flight,  bringing  the  pursuers  fairly  between  the  two 
parties.  Once  enclosed,  a  shrill  whistle  from  Singleton 
announced  the  charge  which  he  led  in  person ;  and 
dashing  out  from  his  cover,  he  threw  his  men  quickly 
betweenthe  flying  scouts  and  the  assailants.  In  the 
same  moment  the  squad  of  Davis  obeying  the  same 
signal,  as  repeated  by  their  leader,  followed  him  as 
he  charged  upon  the  force  left  in  possession  of  the  mu- 
nition wagons.  The  guard  in  this  quarter  seeing  the 
inequality  of  the  force,  and  struck  with  the  surprise, 
"offered  but  a  feeble  resistance,  and  were  soon  put  to 
flight.  Davis  followed  them  a  little  distance,  and  then 
returned  to  the  aid  of  Singleton.  His  approach  and 
attack  upon  the  rear  of  the  party  with  which  his  com- 
mander had  been  contending,  put  an  end  to  the  fight — 
the  dragoons  having  lost  three  men  killed  and  two 
wounded.  With  the  charge  of  Davis,  they  threw  down 
their  arms  and  were  made  prisoners. 


108  THE    PARTISAN. 

The  whole  affair  was  over  in  the  space  of  ten  min- 
utes. In  as  little  time  the  wagons  were  ransacked. 
The  swords  and  pistols  were  strewn  upon  the  ground, 
and  each  trooper  made  his  selection  without  stint  or 
limit.  In  addition  to  this,  each  soldier  was  required  to 
carry  an  extra  sword,  and  holsters  with  their  contents ; 
and  in  this  manner  supplies  were  secured  for  a  much 
larger  force  than  that  which  Singleton  now  commanded. 
The  rest  were  broken  against  the  trees — muskets,  pis- 
tols, and  swords  sharing  the  same  fate — while  the  wag- 
ons themselves,  carefully  tumbled  from  their  axles,  and 
their  wheels  torn  apart,  were  thrown  into  the  slough  by 
the  road-side.  The  necessity  which  called  for  this 
destruction  of  property,  so  valuable  at  the  time,  was  the 
subject  of  no  small  regret  with  the  troopers.  Even 
Davis  nmttered  to  the  major  his  desire  that  the  wag- 
ons, or  at  least  one  of  them,  should  be  preserved  and 
filled  with  spoils  so  highly  important  to  the  enterprise. 
But  Singleton  knew  better  than  to  encumber  his  party, 
whose  utility  consisted  chiefly  in  the  rapidity  of  its 
movement,  with  such  burdens,  and  peremptorily  enforced 
the  order  which  destroyed  the  valuable  residue.  This 
done,  he  gave  orders  to  mount ;  and  having  carefully 
secured  his  prisoners,  the  party  moved  at  a  brisk  pace 
along  the  road  downward  until  they  came  within  ten 
miles  of  the  city  ;  then  moving  to  the  right,  they  crossed 
Ashley  ferry  without  molestation,  and  towards  evening 
had  placed  themselves  in  safety,  Avith  all  their  spoils, 
in  the  close  swamp  thickets  of  the  Stonoe  river,  just 
where  it  inclines  to  the  Ashley,  and  but  a  short  distance 
from  Dorchester  itself. 

Here  Singleton  made  his  camp,  within  a  few  miles 
of  his  uncle's  plantation.  He  now  felt  secure  for  a 
brief  period,  as  he  was  taught  to  believe  that  the  affec- 
tions of  the  people  were  with  his  cause,  and  the  rapidity 
of  his  proceedings  must  baffle  any  pursirit.  Still  he 
knew  that  he  could  not  hope  to  maintain  this  security 
for  any  time.  The  audacity  of  the  two  efforts  which 
he  had  made  that  day,  so  nigh  the  garrison,  could  not 
long  be  concealed,  and  must  soon  call  out  a  superior 


T^HE    PARTISAN.  109 

force  equal  to  his  annihilation.  This  he  well  knew ; 
yet  he  renuired  but  a  few  days  for  all  his  purposes. 
His  object  was  twofold — the  attainment  of  recruits, 
and  the  arousing  of  his  uncle,  whose  bravery  was  well 
known,  and  whose  influence  in  the  country  was  con- 
siderable, to  a  proper  sense  of  his  duty.  The  first  of 
these  objects  promised  well,  so  far  as  opportunity  had 
been  given  him ; — of  the  second  he  did  not  despair, 
particularly  as  lie  well  knew  what  must  be  the  influence 
upon  Colonel  Walton  of  the  recent  proclamation  of 
Sir  Henry  Clinton.  He  knew  the  stern  sense  of  integ- 
rity which  the  colonel  insisted  upon  with  the  tenacity 
of  a  professional  moral  disciplinarian  ;  and  he  did  not 
err  m  the  thought,  that  his  sense  of  humanity  was  suf- 
ficiently alive  to  prompt  a  due  indignation  at  the  many 
atrocities  hourly  committed  by  the  tory  leaders  under 
the  especial  sanction  of  the  British.  Other  motives 
for  the  contemplated  visit  might  not  be  wanting  to  his 
mind,  as  he  thought  of  his  lovely  cousin — the  stately 
and  the  beautiful  Katharine  Walton — one  of  those  liigh- 
souled  creatures  that  awe  while  4hey  attract ;  and,  even 
while  they  invite  and  captivate,  control  and  discour- 
age. His  sister,  too — she  was  there  ;  a  meek,  sad,  l?ut 
imcomplaining  girl,  perishing  of  disease,  Avithout  having 
lived — one  of  the  unrepining  sufferers,  whose  melan- 
choly fortunes,  so  at  variance  with  what  we  know  of 
their  deservings,  would  lead  us  sometimes  improperly  to 
doubt  of  that  justice  which  we  assume  to  mark  all  the 
decrees  of  Providence.     But  let  us  not  anticipate. 

Having  placed  his  camp  in  such  security  as  he 
thought  necessary  and  was  practicable,  Major  Singleton 
towards  sunset  rode  forth  in  the  direction  of  Dorchester 
Bridge  to  meet  Humphries,  as  had  been  agreed  upon 
between  them.  The  lieutenant  was  in  waiting  at  the 
time  appointed,  and  came  forward  to  meet  his  supe- 
rior. 

"  Ride  aside.  Major  Singleton,  if  you  please.  The 
brush  is  best  for  us  just  now.  There  are  strange  birds 
on  our  roost  that  we  must  sheer  from." 

"  What  mean  you,  Humphries — what  birds  ?" 

Vol.  I.— K 


110  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  British  officers  !  Col.  Proctor  himself  and  another 
have  just  gone  by,  and  if  I  mistake  not,  on  a  visit  to 
'  The  Oaks.'  They  say  he  looks  hard  upon  your 
cousin,  sir,  the  beautiful  Miss  Katharine." 

"  Ha  !  do  they  say  that  ?"  responded  Major  Single- 
ton, with  something  like  a  start — "  and  she  ?"  he  con- 
tinued, inquiringly. 

"  They  say  nothing  of  her,  whether  she  likes  it  or  not ; 
but  young  ladies  will  be  young  ladies,  major ;  and  a 
smart  officer,  with  a  king's  commission  in  his  pocket, 
and  a  showy  red  coat  on  his  back,  is  no  small  danger 
to  an  easy  heart." 

"  No,  indeed !"  replied  the  other,  in  a  tone  which 
seemed  to  have  found  nothing  consolatory  in  his  com- 
panion's reflection,  and  in  which  there  may  have  been 
something  of  latent  bitterness — "  no,  indeed  ! — such 
attractions  are  at  all  times  sweet  with  the  sex,  and  sel- 
dom utterly  unsuccessful.  Tliey  love  the  conquest, 
always,  even  when  they  may  despise  the  game.  It's 
with  them  all  after  this  fashion,  and  the  goodly  outside 
is  a  fair  offset  to  worth  and  good  manners.  But  how 
shall  we  know,  of  a  certainty,  the  destination  of  Proc- 
tor ?" 

"  Only  by  dogging  his  footsteps,  major.  We  may 
do  that  with  some  safety,  however,  as  I  happen  to  know 
the  back  track  which  hugs  the  river,  and  is  seldom 
travelled.  This  brings  us  close  on  the  park,  yet  gives 
us  a  good  shelter  all  the  way  along  the  copse.  We 
shall  take  our  watch,  and  yet  be  all  the  time  hidden  ; 
and  where  I  shall  carry  yovi  shall  give  us  a  fair  peep 
at  all  the  gromids  as  well  as  the  river." 

"  That  is  well.  And  now  of  Dorchester  :  what  stirs 
in  the  village,  and  what  of  Huck?  Do  they  know  yet 
of  the  affair  of  the  swamp,  or  are  they  ever  like  to 
know  ?" 

"  They  know  not  yet,  certainly  ;  but  Huck  musters 
strong,  and  talks  of  a  drive  to  Camden.  There  is  news, 
too,  which  moves  the  garrison  much.  They  talk  of  the 
continentals  from  Virginia." 

'«  Do  they  ?  they  must  be  De  Kalb's.     And  what  do 


THE    PARTISAN.  Ill 

they  say  on  the  subject  ?  do  they  speak  of  him  as  at 
hand  ?" 

"  Nothing  much,  hut  they  look  a  deal,  and  the  whig3 
talk  a  little  more  boldly.  This  prox'okes  Hack,  who 
threatens  a  start  on  the  strength  of  it,  and  is  hurrying 
his  recruits  for  that  purpose.  There  is  also  some  talk 
of  a  force  from  North  Carolina  under  Sumter,  and  they 
have  got  wind  of  the  last  move  of  our  Colonel  Marion, 
thereaway  among  Gainey's  corps  of  tories,  where  you 
cut  them  up  in  such  fine  style  ;  but  there's  nothing  cer- 
tain, and  this  I  get  out  of  Huck  in  curses  now  and  then. 
He's  mighty  anxious  that  I  should  join  him,  and  I'm 
thinking  to  do  so,  if  it  promises  to  give  me  a  better 
hold  on  him." 

"  Think  not  of  it,  Humphries  ;  it  will  be  twice  put- 
ting your  neck  in  the  halter,  and  the  good  that  it  may 
do  is  too  doubtful  to  encourage  such  a  risk." 

"  He  presses  me  mighty  hard,  major,  and  I  must 
keep  out  of  his  way  or  consent.  He  begins  to  wonder 
why  I  do  not  join  his  troop,  and  with  some  reason  too, 
believing  me  to  be  a  loyalist,  for  certainly,  were  I  to 
do  so,  it  would  be  the  very  making  of  me." 

"  Thou  wouldst  not  turn  traitor,  Humphries  ?"  replied 
the  other,  looking  sternly  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Does  Major  Singleton  ask  the  question  now  ?"  was 
the  reply,  in  a  tone  which  had  in  it  something  of  reproach. 
"  I  should  not,  certainly,  Humphries,  knowing  what 
I  do.  Forgive  me  ;  but  in  these  times  there  is  so 
much  to  make  us  suspect  our  neighbours,  that  suspi- 
cions become  natural  to  every  mind.  You  I  know,  how- 
ever, and  I  have  trusted  you  too  long  not  to  continue 
in  my  confidence  now.  But  how  come  on  our  re- 
cruits ?" 

"  Tolerably  :  as  you  say,  these  are  suspicious  times, 
major,  and  they  are  slow  to  trust.  But  the  feeling  is 
good  with  us,  and  they  only  wait  to  see  some  of  the 
chances  in  our  favour  before  they  come  out  boldly  in 
the  cause." 

"  Now,  out  upon  the  calculating  wretches  !  Will 
they  dare  nothing,  but  always  wait  for  the  lead  of  others  ? 


112  THE    PARTISAN. 

Chances,  indeed  !  as  if  true  courage  and  a  bold  heart 
did  not  always  make  their  own.  But  what  of  the  vil- 
lagers 1  How  of  that  old  tavern-keeper  of  whom  you 
spake — ^your  father's  rival  ?" 

"  But  so  no  longer.  Old  Pryor,  you  mean.  He  is 
a  prime  piece  of  stuff,  and  will  not  scruple  to  do  what's 
wanted.  He  was  always  true  with  us,  though  kept 
down  by  those  about  him ;  yet  he  only  wants  to  see 
others  in  motion  to  move  too.  He'll  do  any  thing  now 
— the  more  readilj^  as  the  Royal  George,  being  entirely 
loyal,  does  all  the  business  ;  and  poor  Pryor,  being  all 
along  suspected,  has  not  a  customer  left.  He'd  burn 
the  town,  now,  if  we  put  it  into  his  head  V 

"  Well,  just  now  we  lack  no  such  spirit.  May  not 
his  rashness  prompt  him  to  too  much  speech  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  that's  the  beauty  of  rebellion  with  old 
Pryor.  It  has  hands  and  a  weapon,  but  it  wants 
tongue.  If  he  felt  pain,  and  was  disposed  to  tell 
of  it,  his  teeth  would  resist,  and  grin  down  the  feeling. 
No  fear  of  him ;  he  talks  too  little  :  and  as  for  blab- 
bing, his  wife  might  lie  close,  and  listen  all  night,  and 
his  dreams  would  be  as  speechless  as  his  humour. 
He  locks  up  his  thoughts  in  close  jaws,  and  at  best 
only  damns  a  bit  when  angered,  and  walks  off  with 
his  hands  in  his  breeches-pocket." 

"  A  goodly  comrade  for  a  dark  night !  But  let  us 
move.  Dusk  closes  upon  us,  and  we  may  travel  now 
■with  tolerable  security.     Our  course  is  for  the  river?" 

♦'  Yes  ;  a  hundred  yards  will  take  us  in  sight  of  it, 
and  we  keep  it  the  whole  way.  But  we  must  hug  the 
bush,  as  much  out  of  sight  there  as  if  we  were  upon 
the  high-road.  There  are  several  boats,  chiefly  armed, 
upon  it  now,  besides  the  galley  which  runs  up  and 
down — some  that  have  brought  supplies  to  the  garrison. 
Their  shot  would  be  troublesome,  did  they  see  us." 

They  rode  down  the  hill,  entered  a  long  copse,  and 
the  river  wound  quietly  on  its  way  a  little  below  them. 
They  were  now  on  a  line  with  the  fortress  of  Dor- 
chester ;  the  flag  streamed  gaudily  from  the  staff, 
iand  they  could  see  through  the  bushes  that  several 


THE    PARTISAN.  113 

vessels  of  small  burden  Avere  passing  to  and  fro. 
They  sank  back  again  into  the  woods,  and  kept  on 
their  course  in  comparative  silence,  until,  close  upon 
sunset,  they  found  themselves  at  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  "  The  Oaks  ;"  the  spacious  and  lofty  dwelling 
rising  dimly  out  of  the  woods  before  them,  while  from 
their  feet  the  extensive  groimds  of  the  park  spread 
away  in  distance  and  final  obscurity. 

Leaving  them  to  amuse  themselves  as  they  may,  let 
us  now  return  to  the  Cypress  Swamp,  where  we  left 
the  wounded  Clough  under  the  charge  of  the  dragoon 
and  negro.  The  injury  he  had  received,  though  not, 
perhaps,  a  fatal  one,  was  yet  serious  enough  to  render 
immediate  attention  highly  important  to  his  safety  ; 
but  in  that  precarious  time  surgeons  were  not  readily 
to  be  found,  and  the  Americans,  who  were  without 
money,  were  not  often  indulged  with  their  services. 
The  several  corps  of  the  leading  partisans,  such  as 
Marion,  and  Sumter,  Pickens,  Horry,  &c.,  fought  daily 
in  the  swamps  and  along  the  highways,  with  the  pain- 
ful conviction  that,  save  by  some  lucky  chance,  their 
wounds  must  depend  entirely  upon  nature  to  be  healed. 
In  this  way,  simply  through  want  of  tendance,  hundreds 
perished  in  that  warfare  of  privation,  whom,  with  a  few 
simple  specifics,  medical  care  Would  have  sent  again 
into  the  combat,  after  a  few  days'  nursing,  hearty  and 
unimpaired.  The  present  circumstances  of  Clough's 
condition  were  not  of  a  character  to  lead  him  to  hope 
for  a  better  fortune,  and  he  gave  himself  up  despond- 
ingly  to  his  fate,  after  having  made  a  brief  effort  to 
bribe  his  keeper  to  assist  in  his  escape.  But  attend- 
ance was  at  hand,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  and  after  a  few 
hours'  suffering,  the  approach  of  Doctor  Oakenburg 
was  announced  to  the  patient. 

The  doctor  was  a  mere  culler  of  simples,  a  stufler 
of  birds  and  reptiles,  a  digger  of  roots,  a  bark  and 
poultice  doctor — in  other  words,  a  mere  pretender. 
He  was  wretchedly  ignorant  of  every  thing  like  medi- 
cal science,  but  he  had  learned  to  physic.  He  made 
beverages  which,  if  not  always  wholesome,  were,  at 
K2 


114  THE    PARTISAN. 

least,  sometimes  far  from  disagreeable  to  the  counfry 
housewives,  who  frequently  took  the  nostrum  for  the 
sake  of  the  stimulant.  Doctor  Oakenburg  knew  per- 
fectly the  want,  if  he  cared  little  for  the  need,  of  his 
neighbours  ;  and  duly  heedful  of  those  around  him  who 
indulged  in  pipe  and  tobacco,  he  provided  the  bark  and 
the  brandy.  A  few  bitter  roots  and  herbs  constituted 
his  entire  stock  of  medicines  ;  and  with  these  well 
armed  at  all  points  and  never  unprovided,  he  had  worked 
out  for  himself  no  small  reputation  in  that  section  of 
country.  But  this  good  fortune  lasted  only  for  a  season. 
Some  of  his  patients  took  their  departure  after  the 
established  fashion  ;  some,  more  inveterate  with  that 
prejudice  which  distinguishes  the  bad  subject,  turned 
their  eyes  on  rival  remedies  ;  many  were  scattered 
abroad  and  beyond  the  reach  of  our  doctor  by  the 
chances  of  war ;  and  with  a  declining  reputation  and 
wofully  diminished  practice,  Oakenburg  was  fain, 
though  a  timid  creature,  to  link  his  own  with  the  equally 
doubtful  fortunes  of  the  partisan  militia.  This  decision, 
after  some  earnest  argument,  and  the  influence  of  a 
more  earnest  necessity,  Humphries  at  length  persuaded 
him  to  adopt,  after  having  first  assured  him  of  the  per- 
fect security  andunharming  character  of  the  warfare  in 
which  he  was  required  to  engage. 

With  a  dress  studiously  disposed  in  order,  a  head 
well  plastered  v^ith  pomatum,  and  sprinkled  with  the 
powder  so  freely  worn  at  the  time,  a  ragged  frill  care- 
fully adjusted  upon  his  bosom  to  conceal  the  injuries 
of  time,  and  an  ostentatious  exhibition  of  the  shrunken 
shank,  garnished  at  the  foot  with  monstrous  buckles 
that  once  might  have  passed  for  silver,  Oakenburg 
still  persisted  in  exhibiting  as  many  of  the  evidences 
of  the  reduced  gentleman  as  he  possibly  could  pre- 
serve. His  manner  was  tidy,  like  his  dress.  His 
snuff-box  twinkled  for  ever  between  his  fingers,  one  of 
which  seemed  swollen  by  the  monstrous  paste  ring 
which  enriched  it ;  and  his  gait  was  dancing  and  elas- 
tic, as  if  his  toes  had  volunteered  to  do  all  the  duty  of 
his  feet.     His  mode  of  speech,  too,  was  excessively 


THE    PARTISAN.  115 

finical  and  delicate — the  words  passing  through  his 
lips  with  difficulty ;  for  he  dreaded  to  open  them  too 
wide,  lest  certain  deficiences  in  his  jaws  should  be- 
come too  conspicuously  notorious.  These  deficiencies 
had  the  farther  effect  of  giving  him  a  lisping  accent, 
which  not  a  little  added  to  the  pretty  delicacies  of  his 
other  features. 

He  passed  through  the  swamp  with  infinite  difficulty, 
and  greatly  to  the  detriment  of  his  shoes  and  stockings. 
Riding  a  small  tackey  (a  little,  inconsiderate  animal, 
that  loves  the  swamp,  and  is  usually  born  and  bred  in 
it),  he  was  compelled  continually  to  be  on  the  look-out 
for,  and  defence  against,  the  overhanging  branches  and 
vines  clustering  about  the  trees,  through  which  his 
horse,  in  its  own  desire  to  clamber  over  the  roots,  con- 
tinually and  most  annoyingly  bore  him.  In  this  toil  he 
was  compelled  to  pay  far  less  attention  to  his  legs  than 
was  due  to  their  well-being ;  and  it  was  not  until  they 
were  well  drenched  in  the  various  bogs  through  which 
he  had  gone,  that  he  was  enabled  to  see  how  dreadfully 
he  had  neglected  their  even  elevation  to  the  saddle  skirts 
— a  precaution  absolutely  necessary  at  all  times  in  such 
places,  but  more  particularly  when  the  rider  is  mounted 
upon  a  short,  squat  animal,  such  as  our  worthy  doctor 
bestrode.  He  was  under  the  guidance  of  an  elderly, 
drinking  sort  of  person — one  of  the  fat,  beefy  class, 
whose  worship  of  the  belly-god  has  given  an  unhappy 
distension  to  that  ambitious  though  most  erring  mem- 
ber. The  man  leered  with  his  little  eyes  as  he  saw 
the  doctor  plunging  from  pool  to  pool  without  lifting  his 
legs,  but  he  was  too  fond  of  a  joke  to  say  any  thing  in 
the  way  of  warning.  Indeed,  any  warning  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  dangling  legs  would  most  probably  have 
fallen  upon  unheeding  ears ;  for  Doctor  Oakenburg 
was  too  little  of  an  equestrian  not  to  feel  the  necessity, 
while  battling  with  his  brute  for  their  mutual  g-uidance, 
of  keeping  his  pendulous  members  carefully  balanced  on 
each  side,  to  prevent  any  imdue  preponderance  of  one 
over  the  other — a  predicament  of  which  he  had  much 
seeming  apprehension.     In  the  mean  time,  the  lively 


116  THE    PARTISAN. 

big-bellied  man  who  rod*e  beside  him  chuckled  inconti- 
nently, though  in  secret.  He  pretended  great  care  of 
his  companion,  and  advised  him  to  sundry  changes  of 
direction,  all  for  the  worse,  Avhich  the  worthy  doctor  in 
his  tribulation  did  not  scruple  to  adopt. 

"  Ah  !  Squire  Porgy,"  said  he,  complaining,  though 
in  his  most  mincing  manner,  as  they  reached  a  spot  of 
dry  land,  upon  which  they  stopped  for  a  moment's  rest — 
"  ah !  Squire  Porgy,  this  is  but  unclean  travelling,  and 
full  too  of  various  peril.  At  one  moment  I  did  hear  of 
a  plunging,  dashing  sound  in  the  pond  beside  me,  which 
it  came  to  my  thought  was  an  alligator — one  of  those 
monstrous  reptiles  that  are  hurtful  to  children,  and  even 
to  men." 

"  Ay,  doctor,  and  make  no  bones  of  whipping  off  a 
thigh-bone,  at  or  least  a  leg:  and  you  have  been  in 
danger  more  than  once  to-day." 

The  doctor  looked  down  most  wofully  at  his  be- 
smeared pedestals  ;  and  the  shudder  which  went  over 
his  whole  frame  was  perceptible  to  his  companion, 
whose  chuckle  it  increased  proportionably. 

"And  yet.  Squire  Porgy,"  said  he,  looking  round 
him  with  a  most  wo-begone  apprehension — "  yet  did 
our  friend  Humphries  assure  me  that  our  new  occu- 
pation was  one  of  perfect  security.  'Perfect  secu- 
rity' were  the  precise  words  he  used  when  he  coun- 
selled me  to  this  xmdertaking." 

"  Perfect  security  !"  said  Porgy,  and  the  man  laughed 
out  aloud.  "  Why,  doctor,  look  there  at  the  snake 
winding  over  the  bank  before  you — look  at  that,  and 
then  talk  of  perfect  security." 

The  doctor  turned  his  eyes  to  the  designated  pomt, 
and  beheld  the  long  and  beautiful  volumes  of  the  beaded 
snake,  as,  slowly  crossing  their  path  witli  his  pack  of 
linked  jewels  full  in  their  view,  he  wound  his  way  from 
one  bush  into  another,  and  gradually  folded  himself  up 
out  of  sight.  The  doctor,  however,  was  not  to  be 
alarmed  by  this  survey.  He  had  a  passion  for  snakes  ; 
and  admiration  suspended  all  his  fear,  as  he  gazed  upon 
the  beautiful  but  dangerous  reptile. 


THE    PARTISAN.  H7 

'*  Now  would  I  rejoice,  Squire  Porgy,  were  yon  ser- 
pent in  my  poor  cabinet  at  Dorchester.  He  would 
greatly  beautify  my  collection."  And  as  the  man  of 
simples  spoke,  he  gazed  on  the  retiring  snake  with  en- 
vying eye. 

"  Well,  doctor,  get  down  and  chunk  it.  If  it's  worth 
having,  it's  worth  killing." 

"  True,  Master  Porgy  ;  but  it  would  be  greatly  detri- 
mental to  my  shoes  to  alight  in  such  a  place  as  this, 
for  the  thick  mud  would  adhere — " 

"  Ay,  and  so  would  you,  doctor — you'd  stick — but 
not  the  snake.  But  come,  don't  stand  looking  after 
the  bush,  if  you  won't  go  into  it.  You  can  get  snakes 
enough  in  the  swamp — ay,  and  without  much  seeking. 
The  place  is  full  of  them." 

"  This  of  a  certainty.  Squire  Porgy?  know  you  this  V 

"  Ay,  I  know  it  of  my  own  knowledge.  You  can  see 
them  here  almost  any  hour  in  the  day,  huddled  up  like 
a  coil  of  rope  on  the  edge  of  the  tussock,  and  look- 
ing down  at  their  own  pretty  figures  in  the  water." 

"  And  you  think  the  serpent  has  vanity  of  his  per- 
son ?"  inquired  the  doctor,  gravely. 

"  Think — I  don't  think  about  it,  doctor — I  know  it," 
replied  the  other,  confidently.  "And  it  stands  to  rea- 
son, you  see,  that  where  there  is  beauty  and  brightness 
there  must  be  self-love  and  vanity.  It's  a  poor  fool 
that  don't  know  his  own  possession." 

"  There  is  truly  some  reason,  Squire  Porgy,  in  what 
you  have  said  touching  this  matter  ;  and  the  instinct  is 
a  correct  one  which  teaches  the  serpent,  such  as  that 
which  we  have  just  seen,  to  look  into  the  stream  as  one 
of  the  other  sex  into  a  mirror,  to  see  that  its  jewels  are 
not  displaced,  and  that  its  motion  may  not  be  awry,  but 
graceful.     There  is  reason  in  it." 

"  And  truth.  But  we  are  nigh  our  quarters,  and  here 
is  a  soldier  waiting  us." 

"  A  soldier,  squire  ! — he  is  friendly,  perhaps  ?" 

The  manner  of  the  phrase  was  interrogatory,  and 
Porgy  replied  with  his  usual  chuckle. 

"  Ay,  ay,  friendly  enough,  though  dangerous  if  vexed. 


X 


118  THE    PARTISAN. 

See  what  a  sword  he  carries — and  those  pistols !  I 
would  not  risk  much,  doctor,  to  say,  there  are  no  less 
than  sixteen  buckshot  in  each  of  those  barkers." 

"  My  !  you  don't  say  so,  squire  !  Yet  did  William 
Humphries  say  to  me  that  the  duty  was  to  be  done  in 
perfect  security." 

The  last  sentence  fell  from  the  doctor's  lips  in  a  sort 
of  comment  to  himself,  but  his  companion  replied — 

"  Ay,  security  as  perfect,  doctor,  as  war  will  admit 
of.  You  talk  of  perfect  security :  there  is  no  such 
thing — no  perfect  security  anywhere — and  but  little 
security  of  any  kind  until  dinner's  well  over.  I  feel  the 
uncertainty  of  life  till  then.  Then,  indeed,  we  may 
know  as  much  security  as  life  knows.  We  have,  at 
least,  secured  what  secures  life.  We  may  laugh  at 
danger  then  ;  and  if  we  must  meet  it,  why,  at  least  we 
shall  not  be  compelled  to  meet  it  in  that  worst  condi- 
tion of  all — an  empty  stomach.  I  am  a  true  English- 
man in  that,  though  they  do  call  me  a  rebel.  I  feel  my 
origin  only  when  eating  ;  and  am  never  so  well  disposed 
towards  the  enemy  as  when  I'm  engaged,  tooth  and  nail, 
in  that  savoury  occupation,  and  with  roast-beef.  Would 
that  we  had  some  of  it  now  !" 

The  glance  of  Oakenburg,  who  was  wretchedly 
spare  and  lank,  looked  something  of  disgust  as  he 
heard  this  speech  of  the  gourmand,  and  listened  to  the 
smack  of  his  lips  with  which  he  concluded  it. 

He  had  no  taste  for  corpulence,  and  probably  this  was 
one  of  the  silent  impulses  which  taught  him  to  admire 
the  gaunt  and  attenuated  form  of  the  snake.  Porgy 
did  not  heed  his  expression  of  countenance,  but  looking 
up  over  head  where  the  sun  stood  just  above  them  peer- 
ing down  imperfectly  through  the  close  umbrage,  he  ex- 
claimed to  the  soldier,  while  pushing  his  horse  through 
the  creek  which  separated  them — 

"  Hark  you,  Wilkins,  boy,  is  it  not  high  time  to 
feed  ?  horse  and  man — -man  and  horse,  boy,  all  hungry 
and  athirst." 

"  We  shall  find  a  bite  for  you,  squire,  before  long— 


THE    PARTISAN.  119 

but  here's  a  sick  man  the  doctor  must  see  to  at  once  : 
he's  in  a  mighty  bad  way,  I  tell  you." 

"  A  sick  man,  indeed !"  and  the  doctor,  thrusting 
his  hands  into  his  pocket,  drew  forth  a  bottle,  filled 
with  a  dark  thick  liquid,  which  he  shook  violently  until 
it  gathered  into  a  foam  upon  the  surface.  Armed 
with  this,  he  approached  the  little  bark  shanty  under 
which  reposed  the  form  of  the  wounded  Clough. 

"  You  are  hurt,  worthy  sir  V  said  the  mediciner,  in- 
quiringly ;  "  you  have  not  been  in  a  condition  of  per- 
fect security — such  as  life  requires.  But  lie  quiet,  I 
pray  you ;  be  at  ease,  while  I  look  into  your  injuries," 
said  the  doctor,  condolingly,  and  proceeded  to  the 
outstretched  person  of  the  wounded  man  with  great  de- 
liberation. 

"  You  need  not  look  very  far — here  they  are,"  cried 
Clough,  faintly,  but  peevishly,  in  reply,  as  he  pointed 
to  the  wound  in  his  side. 

The  doctor   looked  at  the    spot,  shook   his  head, 
clapped  on  a  plaster  of  pine  gum,  administered  a  dose 
of  his  nostrum,  which  the  patient  gulped  at  prodigi- 
ously, and  then  telling  him  he  would  do  well,  repeated 
his  order  to  lie  quiet  and  say  nothing.     Hurrying  away 
to  his  saddle-bags  after  this  had  been  done,  with  the 
utmost  despatch  he  drew  forth  a  pair  of  monstrous  leg- 
gings, which  he  bandaged  carefully  around  his  shrunken 
pedestals.    In  a  moment  after  he  was  upon  his  tackey, 
armed  with  a  stick,  and  hastening"  back  upon  the  route 
he  had  just  passed  over.     Porgy,  who  was  busy  urging 
the  negro  cook  in  the  preparation  of  his  dinner,  cried  out 
to  the  dealer  of  simples,  but  received  no  answer.    The 
doctor  had  no  thought  but  of  the  snake  he  had  seen,  for 
whose  conquest  and  capture  he  had  now  set  forth,  with 
all  the  appetite  of  a  boy  after  adventures,  and  all  the 
anxiety  of  an  inveterate  naturalist,  to  get  at  the  prop- 
erties of  the  object  he  pursued.     Meanwhile  the  new- 
comer,  Porgy,  had  considerably  diverted  the  thought 
of  the  trooper  from  attention  to  his  charge ;  and  lay- 
ing down  his  sabre  between  them,  the  sentinel  threw 
himself  along  the  ground  where    Porgy  had  already 


120  THE    PARTISAN. 

Stretched  himself,  and  a  little  lively  chat  and  good  com- 
pany banished  from  his  mind,  for  a  season,  the  consid- 
eration of  his  prisoner.  His  neglect  furnished  an  op- 
portunity long  watched  and  waited  for  by  another.  The 
shanty  in  which  Clough  lay  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
island,  and  was  one  of  those  simple  structures  which 
the  Indian  makes  in  his  huntings.  A  stick  rested  at 
either  end  between  the  crotch  of  a  tree,  and  small  sap- 
lings, leaning  against  it  on  one  side,  were  covered  with 
broad  flakes  of  the  pine  bark.  A  few  bushes,  piled  up 
partially  in  front,  completed  the  structure,  which  formed 
no  bad  sample  of  the  mode  of  hutting  it,  winter  and 
summer,  in  the  swamps  and  forests  of  the  South,  by  the 
partisan  warriors.  In  the  rear  of  the  fabric  stood  a 
huge  cypress,  from  the  hollow  of  which,  at  the  moment 
when  the  sentinel  and  Porgy  seemed  most  diverted,  a 
man  might  have  been  seen  approaching.  He  cautiously 
wound  along  on  all-fours,  keeping  as  much  out  of  sight  as 
possible,  until  he  reached  the  back  of  the  hut ;  then  lift- 
ing from  the  saplings  a  couple  of  the  largest  pieces  of 
bark  which  covered  them,  he  introduced  his  body  without 
noise  into  the  tenement  of  the  wounded  man.  Clough 
was  in  a  stupor — a  half-dozy  consciousness  was  upon 
him — and  he  muttered  something  to  the  intruder,  though 
without  any  fixed  object.  The  man  replied  not,  but 
approaching  closely,  put  his  hand  upon  the  bandagings 
of  the  wound,  drawing  them  gently  aside.  The  first 
distinct  perception  which  the  prisoner  had  of  his  situa- 
tion was  the  agonizing  sense  of  a  new  wound,  as  of 
some  sharp  weapon  driven  directly  into  the  pas- 
sage made  by  the  old  one.  He  writhed  under  the  in- 
strument as  it  slanted  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  vitals, 
but  he  had  not  strength  to  resist,  and  but  little  to  cry 
out.  He  would  have  done  so,  but  the  sound  had 
scarcely  risen  to  his  lips,  when  the  murderer  thrust  a 
tuft  of  grass  into  his  mouth  and  stifled  all  complaint. 
The  knife  went  deeper — the  whole  frame  of  the  assail- 
ant was  upon  it,  and  all  motion  ceased  on  the  part  of 
the  sufterer  with  the  single  groan  and  distorted  writh- 
ing which  followed  the   last   agony.     In  a  moment 


THE    PARTISAN  121 

after,  the  stranger  had  departed  by  the  way  he  came,- 
and  it  was  not  till  he  had  reached  the  thick  swamp 
around,  that  the  fearful  laugh  of  the  maniac  Frampton, 
for  it  was  he,  announced  the  success  of  his  new  effort 
at  revenge.  The  laugh  reached  Porgy  and  the  dragoon 
— they  heard  the  groan  also,  but  that  was  natural  enough. 
Nothing  short  of  absolute  necessity  could  have  moved 
either  of  them  at  that  moment — the  former  being  busied 
with  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  a  hoe-cake  hot  from  the 
fire,  and  the  latter  indulging  in  an  extra  swig  of  brandy 
from  a  canteen  which  Porgy,  with  characteristic  provi- 
dence, had  brought  well  filled  along  with  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  Now,  this  were  sorry  wisdom,  to  persuade 
My  sword  to  mine  own  throat.    If  I  must  out, 
Why  should  I  out  upon  mine  ancient  friend, 
And  spare  mine  enemy  ?" 

"  The  Oaks,"  the  dwelling-place  of  Colonel  Wal- 
ton, was  one  of  those  old-time  residences  of  the  Caro- 
lina planters  to  which,  at  this  day,  there  attaches  a  sort 
of  human  interest.  A  thousand  local  traditions  hang 
around  them — a  thousand  stories  of  the  olden  time,  and 
of  its  associations  of  peril  and  adventure.  The  estate 
formed  one  of  the  frontier-plantations  upon  the  Ashley, 
and  was  the  site  of  a  colonial  barony.  It  had  stood 
sieges  of  the  Indians  in  the  wars  of  the  Edistoes  and 
Yemassees ;  and,  from  a  block-house  station  at  first, 
it  had  grown  to  be  an  elegant  mansion,  improved  in 
European  style,  remarkable  for  the  length  and  deep 
shade  of  its  avenues  of  solemn  oak,  its  general  grace  of 
arrangement,  and  the  lofty  and  considerate  hospitality 
of  its  proprietors.  Such,  from  its  first  foundation  to 
the  period  of  which  we  speak,  had  been  its  reputation  ; 
and  in  no  respect  did  the  present  owner  depart  from 

Vol.  I.— L 


122  THE    PARTISAN. 

the  good  tastes  and  the  frank  manly  character  of  his 
ancestors. 

Colonel  Richard  Walton  was  a  gentleman  in  every 
sense  of  the  word  :  simple,  mipretending,  unobtrusive, 
and  always  considerate,  he  was  esteemed  and  beloved 
by  all  around  him.  Born  to  the  possession  of  large 
estates,  his  mind  had  been  exercised  happily  by  edu- 
cation and  travel ;  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  revolu- 
tionary struggle,  he  had  been  early  found  to  advocate 
the  claims  of  his  native  colony.  At  the  commencement 
of  the  war  he  commanded  a  party  of  horse,  and  had 
been  concerned  in  some  of  the  operations  against  Pre- 
vost,  in  the  rapid  foray  which  that  general  made  into 
Carolina.  When  Charlestown  fell  before  the  arms  of 
Sir  Henry  Clinton,  overawed  as  was  the  entire  country 
below  the  Santee  by  the  immediate  presence  in  force 
of  the  British  army,  he  had  tendered  his  submission 
along  with  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants,  despairing  of  any 
better  fortune.  The  specious  offers  of  amnesty  made 
by  Clinton  and  Arbuthnot,  in  the  character  of  commis- 
sioners for  restoring  peace  to  the  revolted  colonies, 
and  which  called  for  nothing  but  neutrality  from  the 
inhabitants,  had  the  effect  of  deceiving  him,  in  common 
with  his  neighbours.  Nor  was  this  submission  so  partial 
as  we  have  been  taught  to  think  it.  To  the  southward 
of  Charlestown,  the  militia,  wiihout  summons,  sent  in  a 
flag  to  the  British  garrison  at  Beaufort,  and  made  their 
submission.  At  Camden  the  inhabitants  negotiated 
their  own  terms  of  repose.  In  Ninety-Six  the  submis- 
sion was  the  same  ;  and,  indeed,  with  the  exception  of 
the  mountainous  borders,  all  show  of  hostility  ceased 
throughout  the  colony — the  people  generally  seeming 
to  prefer  quiet  on  any  terms,  to  a  resistance  which, 
at  that  moment  of  despondency,  seemed  worse  than 
idle. 

This  considerate  pliability  secured  him,  as  it  was 
thought,  in  all  the  immuniiies  of  the  citizen,  without 
subjecting  him  to  any  of  those  military  duties  which, 
in  other  respects,  his  majesty  had  a  perfect  right  to 
call  for  from  his  loyal  subjects.     Such,  certainly,  were 


THE    PARTISAN.  123 

the  pledges  of  the  British  commanders — pledges  made 
with  little  reflection,  or  with  designed  subterfuge,  and 
violated  with  as  little  hesitation.  They  produced  the 
effect  desired,  in  persuading  to  easy  terms  of  arrange- 
ment the  people  who  might  not  have  been  conquered 
but  with  great  difliculty.  Once  disarmed  and  divided, 
they  were  more  easily  overcome  ;  and  it  was  not  long 
after  the  first  object  had  been  obtained  before  measures 
were  adopted  well  calculated  to  effect  the  other. 

Colonel  Walton,  though  striving  hard  to  convince 
himself  of  the  propriety  of  the  course  which  he  had 
taken,  remained  still  unsatisfied.  He  could  not  be  as- 
sured of  the  propriety  of  submission  when  he  beheld, 
as  he  did  hourly,  the  rank  oppression  and  injustice  by 
which  the  conquerors  strove  to  preserve  their  ascend- 
ency over  the  doubtful,  while  exercising  it  wantonly 
among  the  weak.  He  could  not  but  see  how  uncertain 
was  the  tenure  of  his  own  hold  upon  the  invaders,  whom 
nothing  seemed  to  bind  in  the  shape  of  solemn  obliga- 
tion. The  promised  protection  was  that  of  the  wolf, 
and  not  the  guardian  dog ;  it  destroyed  its  charge,  and 
not  its  enemy  ;  and  strove  to  ravage  where  it  promised 
to  secure.  As  yet,  it  is  true,  none  of  these  ills,  in  a 
direct  form,  had  fallen  upon  Colonel  Walton  ;  he  had 
suffered  no  abuses  in  his  own  person  or  family :  on  the 
contrary,  such  were  his  wealth  and  influence,  that  it 
had  been  thought  not  unwise,  on  the  part  of  the  con- 
querox's,  to  conciliate  and  sooth  him.  Still,  the  colonel 
could  not  be  insensible  to  the  gradual  approaches  of 
tyranny.  He  was  not  an  unreflecting  man ;  and  as 
he  saw  the  wrongs  done  to  others,  his  eyes  became 
duly  open  to  the  doubtful  value  of  his  ov/n  securities, 
whenever  the  successes  of  the  British  throughout  the 
state  should  have  become  so  general  as  to  make  them 
independent  of  any  individual  influence.  So  thinking, 
his  mind  gave  a  new  stimulus  to  his  conscience,  which 
now  refused  its  sanction  to  the  decision  which,  in  a 
moment  of  emergency  and  dismay,  he  had  been  per- 
suaded to  adopt.  His  sympathies  were  too  greatly 
with  the  oppressed,  and  their  sufferings  were  too  im- 


124  THE    PARTISAN. 

mediately  under  his  own  eyes,  to  permit  of  this  ;  and 
gloomy  with  the  consciousness  of  his  error — and  the 
more  so  as  he  esteemed  it  now  irremediable — vexed 
with  his  momentary  weakness,  and  apprehensive  of  the 
future — his  mind  grew  sullen  with  circumstances — his 
feelings  sank  ;  and,  gradually  withdrawing  from  all  the 
society  around  him,  he  solaced  himself  in  his  family 
mansion  with  the  small  circle  which  widowhood,  and 
other  privations  of  time,  had  spared  him.  Nor  did 
his  grief  pass  without  some  alleviation  in  the  company 
of  his  daughter  Katharine — she,  the  high-born,  the 
beautiful,  the  young — the  admiration  of  her  neighbour- 
hood, revelling  in  power,  yet  seemingly  all  unconscious 
of  its  sway.  The  rest  of  his  family  in  this  retirement 
consisted  of  a  maiden  sister,  and  a  niece,  Emily 
Singleton,  whom,  but  a  short  time  before,  he  had 
brought  from  Santee,  in  the  hope  that  a  change  of  air 
might  be  of  benefit  to  that  life  which  she  held  by  a 
tenure  the  most  fleeting  and  capricious. 

He  saw  but  few  persons  besides.  Studiously  es- 
tranging himself,  he  had  no  visiters,  unless  we  may 
except  the  occasional  calls  of  the  commanding  officer 
of  the  British  post  at  Dorchester.  This  visiter,  to 
Colonel  Walton,  appeared  only  as  one  doing  an  ap- 
pointed duty,  and  exercising  upon  these  visits  that  kind 
of  surveillance  over  the  people  of  the  country  which 
seemed  to  be  called  for  by  his  position.  Colonel  Proc- 
tor had  another  object  in  his  visits  to  "  The  Oaks." 
He  sought  to  ingratiate  himself  into  the  favour  of  the 
father,  on  account  of  his  lovely  daughter ;  and  to  the 
charms  of  one,  rather  than  the  political  feelings  of  the 
other,  were  the  eyes  of  the  British  officer  properly 
addressed.  Katharine  was  not  ignorant  of  her  con- 
quest, for  Proctor  made  no  efforts  to  conceal  the 
impression  which  she  had  made  upon  his  heart.  The 
maiden,  however,  gave  him  but  small  encouragement. 
She  gloried  in  the  name  of  a  rebel  lady,  and  formed 
one  of  that  beautiful  array,  so  richly  shining  in  the  story 
of  Carolina,  who,  defying  danger,  and  heedless  of  pri- 
vation, spoke  boldly  in  encouragement  to  those  who 


THE    PARTISAN.  125 

yet  continued  to  struggle  for  its  liberties.  She  did  not 
conceal  her  sentiments  ;  and  whatever  may  have  been 
the  personal  attractions  of  Colonel  Proctor,  they  were 
wanting  in  force  to  her  mind,  as  she  associated  him  with 
her  own  and  the  enemies  of  her  country.  Her  recep- 
tion of  her  suitor  was  coldly  courteous  ;  and  that  which 
her  father  gave  him,  though  always  studiously  consid- 
erate and  gentle,  Colonel  Proctor,  at  the  same  time, 
could  not  avoid  perceiving  was  constrained  and  frigid 
— quite  unlike  the  warm  and  familiar  hospitality  which 
otherwise  marked  and  still  marks,  even  to  this  day,  the 
gentry  of  that  neighbourhood. 

It  was  drawing  to  a  close — that  day  of  events  in  the 
history  of  our  little  squad  of  partisans  whose  dwelling 
was  the  Cypress  Swamp.  Humphries,  who  had  en- 
gaged to  meet  Major  Singleton  with  some  necessary 
intelligence  from  Dorchester,  was  already  upon  his 
way  to  the  place  of  meeting,  and  had  just  passed  out 
of  sight  of  Ashley  River,  when  he  he<ard  the  tramp  of 
horses  moving  over  the  bridge,  and  on  the  same  track 
with  himself.  He  sank  into  cover  as  they  passed, 
and  beheld  Colonel  Proctor  and  a  Captain  Dickson, 
both  on  station  at  the  garrison,  on  their  way  to  "  The 
Oaks."  Humphries  allowed  them  to  pass  ;  then  renew- 
ing his  ride,  soon  effected  tlie  meeting  with  Major  Sin- 
gleton. As  we  have  already  seen,  their  object  was 
"  The  Oaks"  also ;  but  the  necessity  of  avoiding  a 
meeting  with  the  British  officers  was  obvious,  and  they 
kept  close  in  the  wood,  leaving  the  ground  entirely  to 
their  opponents. 

Though,  as  we  have  said,  rather  a  frequent  visiter 
at  "  The  Oaks,"  the  present  ride  of  Colonel  Proctor  in 
that  quarter  had  its  usual  stimulus  dashed  somewhat  by 
the  sense  of  the  business  which  occasioned  it.  Its 
discharge  was  a  matter  of  no  little  annoyance  to  the 
Englishman,  who  was  not  less  sensitive  and  generous 
than  brave.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  imparting  to 
Colonel  Walton,  in  person,  the  contents  of  that  not 
yet  notorious  proclamation  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  with 
which  he  demanded  the  performance  of  military  duty 
L2 


126  THE    PARTISAN. 

from  the  persons  who  had  been  paroled  ;  and  by  means 
of  which,  on  departing  from  the  province,  he  planted  the 
seeds  of  that  revolting  patriotism  which  finally  over- 
threw the  authority  he  fondly  imagined  himself  to  have 
successfully  re-established. 

Colonel  Walton  received  his  guests  with  his  accus- 
tomed urbanity  :  he  received  them  alone  ;  and  the  eyes 
of  Colonel  Proctor  looked  round  the  apartment  inqui- 
ringly, but  in  vain,  as  if  he  desired  another  presence. 
His  host  understood  the  glance  perfectly,  for  he  had 
not  been  blind  to  the  frequent  evidences  of  attachment 
which  his  visiter  had  shown  towards  his  daughter  ;  but 
he  took  no  heed  of  it ;  and,  with  a  lofty  reserve  of 
manner,  which  greatly  added  to  the  awkwardness  of 
the  commission  which  the  Englishman  came  to  exe- 
cute, he  simply  confined  himself  to  the  occasional  re- 
mark— such  only  as  was  perfectly  unavoidable  with 
one  with  whom  politeness  was  habitual,  and  the  pre- 
dominant feeling  at  variance  with  it,  the  result  of  a 
calm  and  carefully  regulated  principle.  It  was  only 
with  a  steady  resolution,  at  last,  that  Proctor  was  en- 
abled to  bring  his  conversation  into  any  thing  lilie 
consistency  and  order.  He  commenced,  despairing  of 
any  better  opening,  with  the  immediate  matter  which 
he  had  in  hand. 

"  Colonel  Walton  does  not  now  visit  Dorchester 
so  frequently  as  usual,  nor  does  he  often  travel  so  far 
as  the  city.  May  I  ask  if  he  has  heard  any  late  intel- 
ligence of  moment  ?" 

Walton  looked  inquiringly  at  his  guest,  as  if  to 
gather  from  his  features  something  of  that  intelligence 
which  his  words  seemed  to  presage.  But  the  expres- 
sion was  unsatisfactory — perhaps  that  of  care — so 
Walton  thought,  and  it  gave  him  a  hope  of  some 
better  fortune  for  his  country  than  had  usually  attended 
its  arms  heretofore. 

"  I  have  not,  sir ;  I  ride  but  little  now,  and  have  not 
been  in  Dorchester  for  a  week.  Of  what  intelligence 
do  you  speak,  sir  ?" 

"  The  proclamation  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  sir — his 


THE  PARTISAN.  127 

proclamation  on  the  subject  of  protections  granted  to  the 
mihtia  of  the  province,  those  excepted  made  prisoners 
in  Charlestown." 

Colonel  Walton  looked  bewildered  ;  but  still  coldly, 
and  without  a  Avord,  awaited  the  conclusion  of  Proctor's 
statement.  But  the  speaker  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
when  he  again  spoke,  the  subject  seemed  to  have  been 
somewhat  changed. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry,  Colonel  Walton,  that  it  has  not 
been  heretofore  in  your  power  to  sympathize  more 
freely  and  openly  with  his  majesty's  arms  in  this  war- 
fare against  his  rebellious  subjects." 

"  Stay,  sir,  if  you  please :  these  subjects,  of  whom 
your  phrase  is  rather  unscrupulous,  are  my  relatives 
and  countrymen ;  and  their  sentiments  on  this  rebellion 
have  been  and  are  my  own,  though  I  have  adopted  the 
expedient  of  a  stern  necessity,  and  in  this  have  sus- 
pended the  active  demonstration  of  principles  which  I 
am  nevertheless  in  no  haste  to  forget,  and  do  not  sup- 
press." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir ;  you  will  do  me  grace  to  believe  I 
mean  nothing  of  offence.  However  erring  your  thought, 
I  must  respect  it  as  honest ;  but  this  respect  does  not 
forbid  that  I  should  lament  such  a  misfortune — a  misfor- 
tune, scarcely  less  so  to  his  majesty  than  to  you.  It  is 
my  sincere  regret  that  you  have  heretofore  found  it  less 
than  agreeable  to  unite  your  arms  with  those  of  our 
army  in  the  arrest  of  this  unnatural  struggle.  The 
commission  proffered  you  by  Sir  Henry — " 

"  Was  rejected,  Colonel  Proctor,  and  my  opinions 
then  fairly  avowed  and  seemingly  respected.  No 
reference  now  to  that  subject  need  be  made  by  either 
of  us." 

"  Yet  am  I  called  upon  to  make  it  now,  Colonel 
Walton ;  and  I  do  so  with  a  hope  that  what  is  my 
duty  will  not  lose  me,  by  its  performance,  the  regard 
of  him  to  whom  I  speak.  I  am  counselled  to  remind 
you,  sir,  of  that  proposition  by  the  present  commander- 
in-chief  of  his  majesty's  forces  in  the  South,  Earl 
Cornwallis.     The  proclamation  of  Sir  Hemy  Clinton, 


128  THE    PARTISAN. 

to  which  I  have  alluded,  is  of  such  a  nature  as  opens 
fresh  ground  for  the  renewal  of  that  offer ;  and  in  this 
packet  I  have  instructions  to  that  end,  with  a  formal 
enclosure  of  seal  and  signature,  from  his  excellency 
himself,  which  covers  the  commission  to  you,  sir,  in 
your  full  rank,  as  engaged  in  the  rebel  army." 

"  You  will  keep  it,  sir  ;  again  it  is  rejected.  I  can- 
not lift  arms  against  my  countrymen ;  and  though  I 
readily  understand  the  necessity  which  requires  you  to 
make  the  tender,  you  will  permit  me  to  say,  that  I  hold 
it  only  an  equivocal  form  of  insult." 

"  Which,  I  again  repeat.  Colonel  Walton,  is  foreign 
to  all  intention  on  the  part  of  the  commander-in-chief. 
For  myself,  I  surely  need  make  no  such  attestation. 
He,  sir,  is  persuaded  to  the  offer  simply  as  he  knows 
your  worth  and  influence — he  would  secure  your  co- 
operation in  the  good  cause  of  loyalty,  and  at  the  same 
time  would  soften  what  may  seem  the  harsh  features  of 
this  proclamation." 

"  And  what  is  this  proclamation,  sir  ?  Let  me  hear 
that :  the  matter  has  been  somewhat  precipitately  dis- 
cussed in  advance  of  the  text." 

"  Surely,  sir,"  said  Proctor,  eagerly,  as  the  language 
of  Colonel  Walton's  last  remarks  left  a  hope  in  his 
mind  that  he  might  think  differently  on  the  perusal  of 
the  document,  which  he  now  took  fi'om  the  hands  of 
his  companion,  Dickson — "  surely,  sir,  and  I  hope  you 
will  reconsider  the  resolve  which  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing precipitately  made." 

The  listener  simply  bowed  his  head,  and  motioned 
the  other  to  proceed.  Proctor  obeyed  ;  and,  unfolding 
the  instrument,  proceeded  to  convey  its  contents  to 
the  ears  of  the  astonished  Carolinian.  As  he  read,  the 
cheek  of  Colonel  Walton  glowed  like  fire — his  eye 
kindled — his  pulsation  increased — and  when  the  insidi- 
ous decree,  calling  upon  him  to  resume  the  arms  which 
he  had  cast  aside  when  his  countr)'^  needed  them,  and  lift 
them  in  behalf  of  her  enemies,  was  fairly  compre- 
hended by  his  sense,  his  feelings  had  reached  that 
climax  which  despaired  of  all  utterance.     He  started 


THE    PARTISAN.  129 

abruptly  from  his  seat,  and  paced  the  room  in  strong 
emotion ;  then  suddenly  approaching  Proctor,  he  took 
the  paper  from  his  hand,  and  read  it  with  unwaver- 
ing attention.  For  a  few  moments  after  he  had  been 
fully  possessed  of  its  contents,  he  made  no  remark ; 
then,  with  a  strong  effort,  suppressing  as  much  as  pos- 
sible his  aroused  feelings,  he  addressed  the  Briton  in 
tones  of  inquiry  which  left  it  doubtful  what,  in  reality, 
those  feelings  were. 

"  And  you  desire  that  I  should  embrace  this  commis- 
sion. Colonel  Proctor,  which,  if  I  understand  it,  gives 
me  command  in  a  service  which  this  proclamation  is  to 
insist  upon — am  I  right  ?" 

"  It  is  so,  sir ;  you  are  right.  Here  is  a  colonel's 
commission  under  his  majesty,  with  power  to  appoint 
your  own  officers.  Most  gladly  would  I  place  it  in 
your  hands." 

"  Sir — Colonel  Proctor,  this  is  the  rankest  villany — 
villany  and  falsehood.  By  what  right,  sir,  does  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  call  upon  us  for  military  service,  when 
his  terras  of  protection,  granted  by  himself  and  Admiral 
Arbuthnot,  secured  all  those  taking  them  in  a  condition 
of  neutrality  1" 

"  It  is  not  for  me,  Colonel  Walton,"  was  Proctor's 
reply — "  it  is  not  for  me  to  discuss  the  commands  of 
my  superiors.  But  does  not  the  proclamation  declare 
these  paroles  to  be  null  and  void  after  the  twentieth  1" 

"  True.  But  by  what  right  does  your  superior  vio- 
late his  compact  ?  Think  you,  sir,  that  the  Carolinians 
would  have  taken  terms  with  invasion,  the  conditions 
and  maintenance  of  which  have  no  better  security 
than  the  caprice  of  one  of  the  parties  ?  Think  you,  sir, 
that  I,  at  least,  would  have  been  so  weak  and  foolish  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  Colonel  Walton — and  I  would  not  offend 
by  the  suggestion,"  replied  the  other,  with  much  mod- 
eration— "  perhaps,  sir,  it  was  a  singular  stretch  of 
indulgence  to  grant  terms  at  all  to  rebellion." 

"  Ay,  sir,  you  may  call  it  by  what  name  you  please  ; 
but  the  terms,  having  been  once  offered  and  accepted, 
were  to  the  full  as  binding  between  the  law  and  the 
rebel  as  between  the  prince  and  dutiful  subjects." 


130  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  I  may  not  argue,  sir,  the  commands  of  my  supe- 
rior," rejoined  the  other,  firmly,  but  calmly. 

"  I  am  not  so  bound,  Colonel  Proctor ;  it  is  matter 
for  close  argument  and  solemn  deliberation  with  me, 
and  it  will  be  long,  sir,  before  I  shall  bring  myself  to 
lift  arms  against  my  countrymen." 

"  There  is  a  way  of  evading  that  necessity,  Colonel 
Walton,"  said  Proctor,  eagerly. 

The  other  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  though  he  evi- 
dently did  not  hope  for  much  from  the  suggested  alter- 
native. 

"  That  difficulty,  sir,  may  be  overcome  :  his  majesty 
has  need  of  troops  in  the  West  Indies  ;  Lord  Cornwal- 
lis,  with  a  due  regard  to  the  feelings  of  his  dutiful 
subjects  of  the  colonies,  has  made  arrangements  for  an 
exchange  of  service.  The  Irish  regiments  will  be 
■withdrawn  from  the  West  Indies,  and  those  of  loyal 
Carolinians  substituted.  This  frees  you  from  all  risk 
of  encountering  with  your  friends  and  countrymen, 
while  at  the  same  time  it  answers  equally  the  purposes 
of  my  commander." 

The  soldier  by  profession  saw  nothing  degrading, 
nothing  servile  in  the  proposed  compromise.  The 
matter  had  a  different  aspect  in  the  eyes  of  the  southern 
gentleman.  The  proposition  which  would  send  him 
from  his  family  and  friends,  to  engage  in  conflict  with 
and  to  keep  down  those  to  whom  he  had  no  antipathy, 
was  scarcely  less  painful  in  its  exactions  than  to  take 
up  arms  against  his  immediate  neighbours.  The  sug- 
gestion, too,  which  contemplated  the  substitution  of 
troops  of  foreign  mercenaries,  in  the  place  of  native 
citizens,  who  were  to  be  sent  to  other  lands  in  the 
same  capacity,  was  inexpressibly  offensive,  as  it  di- 
rectly made  him  an  agent  for  the  increase  of  that  power 
which  aimed  at  the  destruction  of  his  people  and  his 
principles.  The  sense  of  ignominy  grew  stronger  in 
his  breast  as  he  heard  it,  and  he  paced  the  apartment 
in  unmitigated  disorder. 

"  I  am  no  hireling.  Colonel  Proctor ;  and  the  war, 
hand  to  hand  with  my  own  sister's  child,  would  be  less 


THE     PARTISAN.  131 

shameful  to  me,  however  full  of  pain  and  misery,  than 
this  alternative." 

"  There  is  no  other,  sir,  that  I  know  of." 

"  Ay,  sir,  but  there  is — there  is  another  alternative, 
Colonel  Proctor;  more  than  that,  sir — there  is  a 
remedy." 

The  eyes  of  the  speaker  flashed,  and  Proctor  saw 
tliat  they  rested  upon  the  broadsword  which  hung  upon 
the  wall  before  them. 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  Briton. 

"  In  the  sword,  sir — in  the  strife — to  take  up  arms — 
to  prepare  for  battle  !"  was  the  stern  reply. 

Either  the  other  understood  him  not,  with  an  obtuse- 
ness  not  common  with  him,  or  he  chose  not  to  under- 
stand him,  as  he  replied — 

"  Why,  that,  sir,  is  what  he  seeks — it  is  what  Lord 
Cornwallis  desires,  and  what,  sir,  would,  permit  me  to 
say,  be  to  me,  individually,  the  greatest  pleasure.  Your 
co-operation  here,  sir,  would  do  more  towards  quieting 
discontent  than  any  other  influence." 

The  manner  of  AValton  was  unusually  grave  and 
deliberate. 

"  You  have  mistaken  me.  Colonel  Proctor.  When 
I  spoke  of  taking  up  the  sword,  sir,  I  spoke  of  an  alter- 
native. I  meant  not  to  take  up  the  sword  to  fight  your 
battles,  but  my  own.  If  this  necessity  is  to  be  fixed 
upon  me,  sir,  I  shall  have  no  loss  to  know  my  duty." 

"  Sir — Colonel  Walton — beware  !  As  a  British 
officer,  in  his  majesty's  commission,  I  must  not  listen 
to  this  language.  Yon  will  remember,  sir,  that  I  am 
in  command  of  this  garrison,  and  of  the  neighbouring 
country — bound  to  repress  every  show  of  disaffection, 
and  with  the  power  to  determine,  in  the  last  resort, 
without  restraint,  should  my  judgment  hold  it  necessary. 
I  would  not  willingly  be  harsh  ;  and  you  will  spare  me, 
sir,  from  hearing  those  sentiments  uttered  which  become 
not  the  ears  of  a  loyal  subject." 

"  I  am  a  free  man.  Colonel  Proctor — I  would  be  one, 
at  least.  Things  I  must  call  by  their  right  names ; 
and,  as  such,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  pronoimce  this  decree 


132  THE    PARTISAN. 

a  most  dishonest  and  criminal  proceeding,  which  should 
call  up  every  honest  hand  in  retribution.  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  has  done  this  day  what  he  will  long  be  sorry 
for." 

"  And  what,  permit  me  to  add,  Colonel  Walton — 
what  I  myself  am  sorry  for.  But  it  is  not  for  me  to 
question  the  propriety  of  that  which  my  duty  calls  upon 
me  to  enforce." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  are  the  penalties  of  disobedience 
to  this  mandate  ?" 

"  Sequestration  of  property  and  imprisonment,  at  the 
discretion  of  the  several  commandants  of  stations." 

"  Poor  Kate  ! — But  it  is  well  it  is  no  worse."  The 
words  fell  unconsciously  from  the  lips  of  the  speaker : 
he  half-strode  over  the  floor ;  then,  turning  upon  Proc- 
tor, demanded  once  more  to  look  upon  the  proclamation. 
He  again  read  it  carefully. 

"  Twenty  days,  Colonel  Proctor,  I  see,  have  been 
allowed  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton  for  deliberation  in  a 
matter  which  leaves  so  little  choice.  So  much  is 
scarcely  necessary ;  you  shall  have  my  answer  before 
that  time  is  over.  Meanwhile,  sir,  let  us  not  again 
speak  of  the  subject  until  that  period." 

"  A  painful  subject,  sir,  which  I  shall  gladly  forbear," 
said  Proctor,  rising  ;  "  and  I  will  hope,  at  the  same  time, 
that  Colonel  Walton  thinks  not  unliindly  of  the  bearer  of 
troublesome  intelligence." 

"  God  forbid,  sir !  I  am  no  malignant.  You  have 
done  your  duty  with  all  tenderness,  and  I  thank  you 
for  it.     Our  enemies  are  not  always  so  considerate." 

"  No  enemies,  I  trust,  sir.  I  am  in  hopes  that,  upon 
reflection,  you  will  not  find  it  so  difficult  to  reconcile 
yourself  to  what,  at  the  first  blush,  may  seem  so  un- 
pleasant." 

"  No  more,  sir — no  more  on  the  subject,"  was  the 
quick,  but  calm  reply.  "  Will  you  do  me  grace,  gen- 
tlemen, in  a  glass  of  Madeira — some  I  can  recom- 
mend ?" 

They  drank ;  and  seeing  through  the  window  the 
forms  of  the  young  ladies,  Colonel  Proctor  proposed 


THE    PAKTISAN.  133 

to  join  them  in  their  walk — a  suggestion  which  his 
entertainer  answered  by  leading  the  way.  In  the 
mean  while,  go  we  back  to  our  old  acquaintance, 
Major  Singleton,  and  his  trusty  coadjutor,  Humphries. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  We  meet  ajfain — we  meet  again,  once  more, 
We  that  were  parted — happy  that  we  meet, 
More  happy  were  we  not  to  part  again." 

Keeping  close  in  cover,  Major  Singleton  and  his 
guide  paused  at  length  in  the  shelter  of  a  gigantic  oak, 
that  grew,  with  a  hundred  others,  along  the  extreme 
borders  of  the  park-grounds.  The  position  had  been 
judiciously  taken,  as  it  gave  them  an  unobstructed 
view  of  the  Mansion  House,  the  lawn  in  front,  and  a 
portion  of  the  adjacent  garden.  They  were  them- 
selves partial  occupants  of  the  finest  ornament  of  the 
estate — the  extensive  grove  of  solemn  oaks,  with  arms 
branching  out  on  every  side,  sufficient  each  of  them 
for  the  shelter  of  a  troop.  They  rose,  thickly  placed 
all  around  the  dwelling,  concentrating  in  a  beautiful 
defile  upon  the  front,  and  thus  continuing  for  the  dis- 
tance of  a  full  mile  until  they  gathered  in  mass  upon  the 
main  road  of  the  country.  In  the  rear  they  stretched 
away  singly  or  in  groups,  artfully  disposed,  but  without 
regularity,  down  to  the  very  verge  of  the  river,  over 
which  many  of  them  sloped  with  all  their  weight  of 
limbs  and  luxuriance  upon  them ;  their  long-droop- 
ing beard  of  white  moss  hanging  down  mournfully, 
and  dipping  into  the  river  at  every  pressure  of  the 
wind  upon  the  boughs  from  which  it  depended.  Under 
one  of  these  trees,  the  largest  among  them,  the  very 
patriarch  of  the  collection,  the  two  adventurers  paused; 
Singleton  throwing  himself  upon  a  cluster  of  the  thick 
roots  which  had  risen  above  and  now  ran  along  the 

Vol.  I.— M 


134  THE   PARTISAN. 

surface,  while  his  companion,  like  a  true  scout,  wan- 
dered off  in  other  parts  of  the  grove  with  the  hope  to 
obtain  intelligence,  or  at  least  to  watch  the  movements 
of  the  British  officers,  whose  presence  had  prevented 
their  own  approach  to  the  dwelling. 

As  Singleton  gazed  around  upon  the  prospect,  the 
whole  scene  grew  fresh  under  his  eye  ;  and  though 
many  years  had  elapsed  since,  in  the  buoyancy  and 
thoughtlessness  of  boyhood,  he  had  rambled  over  it, 
yet  gradually  old  acquaintances  grew  again  familiar  to 
his  glance.  The  tree  he  knew  again  under  which  he 
had  formerly  played.  The  lawn  spread  freely  onward, 
as  of  old,  over  which,  in  sweet  company,  he  had  once 
gambolled — the  little  clump  of  shrubs,  here  and  there, 
still  grew,  as  he  had  once  known  them ;  and  his  heart 
grew  softened  amid  its  many  cares,  as  his  memory 
brought  to  him  those  treasures  of  the  past,  which  were 
all  his  own  when  nothing  of  strife  was  in  his  fortunes. 
What  a  god  is  memory,  to  keep  in  life — to  endow  with 
an  unslumbering  vitality  beyond  that  of  our  own  nature 
— its  unconscious  company — the  things  that  seem  only 
born  for  its  enjoyment — that  have  no  tongues  to  make 
themselves  felt — and  no  claim  upon  it,  only  as  they 
have  ministered,  ignorant  of  their  own  value,  to  the 
tastes  and  necessities  of  a  superior  !  How  more  than 
dear — how  valuable  are  our  recollections  !  How  like 
so  many  volumes,  in  which  time  has  written  on  his 
passage  the  history  of  the  affections  and  the  hopes. 
Their  names  may  be  trampled  upon  in  our  passion, 
blotted  with  our  tears,  thrown  aside  in  our  thoughtless- 
ness, but  nothing  of  their  sacred  traces  may  be  oblit- 
erated. They  are  with  us,  for  good  or  for  evil,  for 
ever!  They  last  us  when  the  father  and  the  mother 
of  our  boyhood  are  gone.  They  bring  them  back  as  in 
infancy.  We  are  again  at  their  knee — we  prattle  at 
their  feet — we  see  them  smile  upon,  and  we  know 
that  they  love  us.  How  dear  is  such  an  assurance  ! 
How  sweetly,  when  the  world  has  gone  wrong  with 
us,  when  the  lover  is  a  heedless  indifferent,  when  the 
friend  has  been  tried  and  found  wanting,  do  they  cluster 


THE    PARTISAN.  135 

before  our  eyes  as  if  they  knew  our  desire,  and  strove  to 
minister  to  our  necessities.  True,  they  call  forth  our 
tears,  but  they  take  the  weight  from  our  hearts.  They 
ai'e  never  false  to  us, — bfetter,  far  better,  were  we 
more  frequently  true  to  them  ! 

Such  were  the  musings  of  Singleton,  as,  reclined 
along  the  roots  of  the  old  tree,  and  sheltered  by  its 
branches,  his  eye  took  in,  and  his  memory  revived,  the 
thousand  scenes  which  he  had  once  known  of  boyish 
frolic,  when  life  wore,  if  not  a  better  aspect  of  hope 
to  his  infant  mind,  at  least  a  far  less  unpleasant  show 
of  its  many  privations.  Not  a  tree  grew  before  him 
which  he  did  not  remember  for  some  little  prank,  or 
incident ;  and  a  thousand  circumstances  were  linked 
with  the  various  objects  that,  once  familiar,  were  still 
unforgotten.  Nothing  seemed  to  have  undergone  a 
change — nothing  seemed  to  have  been  impaired  ;  the 
touches  of  time  upon  the  old  oak  had  rather  mellowed 
into  a  fitting  solemnity  the  aspect  of  that  to  which  we 
should  scarcely  ever  look  for  a  difi'erent  expression. 
While  he  yet  mused,  mingling  in  his  mind  the  waters 
of  those  SAveet  and  bitter  thoughts  which  make  up  the 
life-tide  of  the  wide  ocean  of  memory,  the  dusk  of 
evening  came  on,  soft  in  its  solemnity,  and  unoppressive 
even  in  its  gloom,  under  the  sweet  sky  and  unmolested 
zephyr,  casting  its  pleasant  shadows  along  the  edges 
of  the  grove.  The  moon,  at  the  same  time  rising 
stealthily  among  the  tree-tops  in  the  east,  was  seeking 
to  pale  her  ineffectual  fires  while  yet  some  traces  of 
the  sun  were  still  bright  in  waving  lines  and  fragments 
upon  the  opposite  horizon.  Along  the  river,  which 
had  a  beating  murmur  upon  the  low  banks,  the  breeze 
skimmed  playfully  and  fresh  ;  and  what  with  its  plea- 
sant chidings,  the  hum  of  the  tree-tops  bending  be- 
neath its  embrace,  and  the  still  more  certain  appre- 
ciation by  his  memory  of  the  genius  of  the  place,  the 
feeling  of  Singleton's  bosom  grew  heightened  in  its 
tone  of  melancholy,  and  a  more  passionate  emphasis  of 
thought  broke  forth  in  his  half-muttered  soliloquy : — 

"How  I  remember   as  I  look;    it  is  not  only  the 


136  THE  PARTISAN. 

woods  and  the  grounds — the  river  and  the  spot — but  the 
very  skies  are  there  ;  and  that  very  wind,  and  the  mur- 
muring voices  of  the  trees,  are  all  the  same.  Nothing 
— nothing  changed.  All  as  of  old,  but  the  one — all  but 
she — she,  the  laughing  child,  the  confiding  playmate ; 
and  not  as  now,  the  capricious  woman — the  imperi- 
ous heart,  scorning  where  she  once  soothed,  denying 
where  she  was  once  so  happy  to  bestow.  Such  is  her 
change — a  change  which  the  speechless  nature  itself 
rebukes.  She  recks  not  now,  as  of  old,  whether  her 
word  carries  with  it  the  sting  or  the  sweet — it  is  not  now 
in  her  thought  to  ask  whether  pain  or  pleasure  fol- 
lows the  thoughtless  slight  or  the  scornful  pleasantry. 
The  victim  suffers,  but  she  recks  not  of  his  grief.  Yet 
is  she  not  an  insensible — not  proud,  not  scornful.  Let 
me  do  her  justice  in  this.  Let  me  not  wrong  her  but 
to  think  it.  What  but  love,  kindness,  and  all  affection 
is  her  tendance  upon  poor  Emily.  To  her,  is  she  not 
all  meekness,  all  love,  all  forbearance  ?  To  my  uncle, 
too,  no  daughter  could  be  more  dutiful,  more  affec- 
tionate, more  solicitously  watchful.  To  all,  to  all  but 
me  !  To  me,  only,  the  proud,  the  capricious,  the  in- 
different. And  yet,  none  love  her  like  me ;  I  must 
love  on  in  spite  of  pride,  and  scorn,  and  indifference — 
I  cannot  choose  but  love  her." 

The  musings  of  Major  Singleton  had  for  their  ob- 
ject his  fair  cousin,  the  beautiful  Kate — according  to 
his  account,  a  most  capricious  damsel  in  some  re- 
spects, though  well  enough,  it  would  appear,  in  others. 
We  shall  see  for  ourselves,  as  we  proceed.  Mean- 
while, the  return  of  Humphries  from  his  scouting 
expedition  arrests  our  farther  speculation  upon  this 
topic,  along  with  the  soliloquy  of  our  companion, 
whose  thoughts  were  now  turned  into  another  channel, 
as  he  demanded  from  his  lieutenant  an  account  of  his 
discoveries. 

"  And  what  of  the  Britons,  Humpliries  1  are  they 
yet  in  saddle,  and  when  may  we  hope  to  approach  the 
dwelling  ?  I  have  not  been  used  to  skulk  like  a  beateu 
hound  around  the  house  of  my  mother's  brother,  not 


THE    PARTISAN.  137 

daring  to  come  forward,  and,  I  am  free  to  confess,  the 
necessity  makes  me  melancholy." 
,  "  Very  apt  to  do  so,  major,  but  you  have  to  bear  it 
a  little  longer.  The  horses  of  the  officers  have  been 
brought  up  into  the  court,  and  the  boy  is  in  waiting,  but 
the  riders  have  not  made  their  appearance.  I  suppose 
they  stop  for  a  last  swig  at  the  squire's  Madeira.  He 
keeps  a  prime  stock  on  hand,  they  say,  though  I've 
never  had  the  good  fortune  to  taste  any  of  it." 
:  "  You  shall  do  so  to-night,  Humphries,  and  grow 
wiser,  unless  your  British  Colonel's  potations  exceed 
a  southern  gentleman's  capacity  to  meet  him.  But 
you  knew  my  uncle  long  before  coming  down  from 
Santee  with  him." 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  sir.  I  used  to  see  him  fre- 
quently in  the  village  ;  but  since  the  fall  of  Charlestown 
he  has  kept  close  to  the  plantation.  They  say  he 
goes  nowhere  now,  except  it  be  down  towards  Cane- 
acre  and  Horse  Savannah,  and  along  the  Stonoe,  where 
he  has  acquaintance.  I  'spose  he  has  reason  enough 
to  lie  close,  for  he  has  too  much  wealth  not  to  be  an 
object,  and  the  tories  keep  a  sharp  look  out  on  him. 
Let  him  be  suspected,  and  they'd  have  a  pretty  drive 
at  the  old  plate,  and  the  negroes  would  soon  be  in  the 
Charlestown  market,  and  then  oft'  to  the  West  Indies. 
Colonel  Proctor  is  watchful  too,  and  visits  the  squire 
quite  too  frequently  not  to  have  some  object." 

"  Said  you  not  that  Kate,  his  daughter,  Miss  Wal- 
ton, was  the  object.  Object  enough,  I  should  think, 
for  a  hungry  adventurer,  sent  out  to  make  his  fortune 
in  alliance  with  the  very  blood  he  seeks  to  shed.  Kate 
would  be  a  pleasant  acquisition  for  a  younger  son." 

There  was  something  of  bitterness  in  the  tone  of 
the  speaker  on  this  subject,  which  told  somewhat  of 
the  strength  of  those  suspicions  in  his  mind,  to  which, 
without  intending  so  much,  Humphries,  in  a  previous  re- 
mark, had  actually  given  the  direction.  The  latter  saw 
this,  and  with  a  deliberate  tact,  not  so  much  the  work 
of  his  education  as  of  a  natural  delicacy,  careful  not 
tp  startle  the  nice  jealousies  of  Singleton,  he  hastened 
M2 


138  THE    PARTISAN. 

to  remove  the  impression  which  unwittingly  he  had 
made.  Without  laying  any  stress  upon  what  he  said, 
and  with  an  expression  of  countenance  the  most  indif- 
ferent, he  proceeded  to  reply  as  follows  to  the  remark 
of  his  companion  : — 

"  Why,  major,  it  would  be  a  pleasant  windfall  to 
Proctor  could  he  get  Miss  Walton  ;  but  there's  a  mighty 
small  chance  of  that,  if  folks  say  true.  He  goes  there 
often  enough,  that's  certain,  but  he  doesn't  see  her  half 
the  time.  She  keeps  her  chamber  or  takes  herself  off 
in  the  carriage  when  she  hears  of  his  coming;  and  his 
chance  is  slim  even  to  meet  with  her,  let  'lone  to  get 
her." 

There  was  a  tremulous  lightness  in  Singleton's  tone 
as  he  spoke  to  this  in  oblique  language — 

"  And  yet  Proctor  has  attractions,  has  he  not  ?  I 
have  somewhere  heard  so— a  fine  person,  good  fea- 
tures, even  handsome.     He  is  young,  too." 

"  Few  better  looking  men,  sir,  and  making  due  al- 
lowance for  an  enemy,  a  clever  sort  of  fellow  enough. 
A  good  officer,  too,  that  knows  what  he's  about,  and 
quite  a  polite,  fair-spoken  gentleman." 

"  Indeed  !  attractions  quite  enough,  it  would  seem, 
to  persuade  any  young  lady  into  civility.  And  yet, 
you  say — " 

"  Hist,  major !    '  Talk  of  the '   Ask  pardon,  sir  ; 

but  drop  behind  this  bush.  Here  comes  the  lady  her- 
self with  your  sister,  I  believe,  though  I  can't  say  at 
this  distance.  They've  been  walking  through  the  oaks, 
and,  as  you  see,  Proctor  keeps  the  house." 

The  two  sank  into  cover  as  the  young  ladies  came 
through  the  grove,  bending  their  way  towards  the  very 
spot  where  Singleton  had  been  reclining.  The  place 
was  a  favourite  with  all,  and  the  ramble  in  this  quarter 
was  quite  a  regular  custom  of  the  afternoon  with  the 
fair  heiress  of  Colonel  Walton  in  particular.  As  she 
approached,  they  saw  the  lofty  carriage,  the  graceful 
height,  and  the  symmetrical  person  of  our  heroine — 
her  movement  bespeaking  for  her  that  degree  of  con- 
sideration which  few  ever  looked  upon  her  and  withheld. 


THE    PARTISAN.  139 

Her  dress  was  white,  and  simple,  rather  more  in  the 
fashion  of  the  present  than  of  that  time,  when  a  lady's 
body  was  hooped  in  like  a  ship's,  by  successive  layers 
of  cordage  and  timber ;  and  when  her  headgear  rose 
into  a  pyramid,  tower  upon  tower,  a  massy  and  Babel- 
like structure,  well  stuccoed,  to  keep  its  place,  by  the 
pastes  and  pomatums  of  the  day.  With  her  dress, 
the  nicest  stickler  for  the  proper  simplicities  of  good 
taste  would  have  found  no  cause  of  complaint.  Setting 
off  her  figure  to  advantage,  it  did  not  unpleasantly 
confine  it ;  and,  as  for  her  soft  brown  hair,  it  was  free 
to  wanton  in  the  winds,  save  where  a  strip  of  velvet 
restrained  it  around  her  brows.  Yet  this  simplicity 
indicated  no  improper  indifference  on  the  part  of  the 
lady  to  her  personal  appearance.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  the  art  which  concealed  itself — the  felicitous 
taste,  and  the  just  estimate  of  a  mind  capable  of  con- 
ceiving proper  standards  of  fitness — that  achieved  so 
much  in  the  inexpressive  yet  attractive  simplicity  of 
her  costume.  She  knew  that  the  elevated  and  intel- 
lectual forehead  needed  no  mountainous  height  of 
hair  for  its  proper  effect.  She  compelled  hers  ac- 
cordingly— simply  parting  it  in  front — to  play  capri- 
ciously behind;  and,  "heedful  of  beauty,  the  same 
woman  still,"  the  tresses  that  streamed  so  luxuriantly 
about  her  neck,  terminated  in  a  hundred  sylph-like 
locks,  exceedingly  natural  to  behold,  but  which  cost 
her  some  half-hour's  industrious  application  daily  at 
the  toilet.  Her  eye  was  dark,  richly  brilliant  in  its 
expression,  though  we  look  into  its  depths  vainly  for 
that  evidence  of  caprice  and  a  wanton  love  of  its  ex- 
ercise which  Singleton  had  rather  insisted  upon  as 
her  characteristic.  Her  face  was  finely  formed,  deli- 
cately clear  and  white,  slightly  pale,  but  marked  still 
with  an  appearance  of  perfect  health,  which  preserved 
that  just  medium  the  eye  of  taste  loves  to  rest  upon, 
in  which  the  rose  rises  not  into  the  gaudy  richness  of 
mere  vulgar  health,  and  is  yet  sufficiently  present  to 
keep  the  cheek  from  falling  into  the  opposite  extreme, 


140  THE  Partisan. 

the  autumnal   sickness  of  aspect,  which,  wanting  in 
the  other,  it  is  so  very  apt  to  assume. 

Not  so  the  companion  beside  her.  Pale  and 
shadowy,  the  young  girl,  younger  than  herself,  who 
hung  upon  her  arm,  was  one  of  the  doomed  victims  of 
consumption — that  insidious  death  that  sleeps  with  us, 
and  smiles  with  us — insidiously  winds  about  us  to  lay 
Avaste,  and  looks  most  lovely  when  most  determined 
to  destroy.  She  was  small  and  naturally  slight  of 
person,  but  the  artful  disease  under  which  she  suffered 
had  made  her  more  so ;  and  her  wasted  form,  the 
evident  fatigue  of  her  movement,  not  to  speak  of  the 
pain  and  difficulty  of  her  breathing,  were  all  so  many 
proofs  that  the  tenure  of  her  life  was  insecure,  and  her 
term  brief.  Yet  few  were  ever  more  ready  for  this 
final  trial  than  the 'young  lady  before  us.  The  heart 
of  Emily  Singleton  was  as  pure  as  her  eyes  were 
gentle.  Her  affections  were  true,  and  her  thoughts 
had  been  long  since  turned  only  to  heaven.  Her  own 
condition  had  never  been  concealed  from  her,  nor  was 
she  disposed  to  shrink  from  its  consideration.  Doomed 
to  a  brief  existence,  she  wasted  not  the  hours  in  pain- 
ful repinings  at  a  fate  so  stern  ;  but  still  regarding  it  as 
inevitable,  she  prepared  as  calmly  as  possible  to  en- 
counter it.  Fortunately,  she  had  no  strong  passions 
aroused  and  concentrated,  binding  her  to  the  earth. 
Love — that  quick,  angry,  and  eating  fever  of  the  mind — 
had  never  touched  the  heart  that,  gentle  from  the  first, 
had  been  restrained  from  the  indulgence  of  such  a  feel- 
ing by  the  due  consciousness  of  that  destiny  which 
could  not  admit  of  its  realization.  Her  mood  had  grown 
loftier,  sublimer,  in  due  proportion  with  the  check 
which  this  consciousness  had  maintained  upon  her 
sensibilities.  She  had  become  spiritualized  in  mind, 
even  as  she  had  grown  attenuated  in  person  ;^and  with 
no  murmurings,  and  but  few  regrets,  her  thoughts 
were  now  only  busied  with  those  heavenward  contem- 
plations which  take  the  pang  from  death,  and  disarm 
parting  of  many  of  its  privations,     Singleton  looked 


THE    PARTISAN.  141 

forth  from  his  cover  upon  the  form  of  his  sister,  while 
the  tears  gathered  in  big  drops  into  his  eyes. 

"  So  pure,  so  early  doomed  !  Oh,  my  sweet  sister ! 
— and  when  that  comes,  then  am  I  indeed  alone. 
Poor  Emily  I" 

Thus  muttering  to  himself,  as  they  came  near,  he 
was  about  to  emerge  into  sight  and  address  them, 
when,  at  the  instant,  Humphries  caught  his  wrist,  and 
whispered — 

"  Stir  not — move  not.  Proctor  approaches,  with 
Colonel  Walton  and  another.  Our  hope  is  in  lying 
close." 

The  ladies  turned  to  meet  the  new-comers.  The 
two  British  officers  seemed  already  acquainted  with 
them,  since  they  nov/  advanced  without  any  introduc- 
tion. Proctor,  with  the  ease  of  a  well-bred  gentleman, 
placed  himself  beside  the  fair  heiress  of  the  place,  to 
whom  he  tendered  his  arm ;  while  his  companion,  Cap- 
tain Dickson  of  the  guards,  made  a  similar  tender  to 
Emily.  The  latter  quietly  took  the  arm  of  Dickson, 
releasing  that  of  her  cousin  at  the  same  moment. 
But  Kate  seemed  not  disposed  to  avail  herself  of 
her  example.  Civilly  declining  Proctor's  oifer,  with 
great  composure  she  placed  her  arm  within  that  of  her 
father,  and  the  walk  was  continued.  None  of  this  had 
escaped  the  notice  of  Major  Singleton,  whose  place 
of  concealment  was  close  beside  the  path ;  and,  without 
taking  too  many  liberties  with  his  confidence,  we  may 
say  that  his  feelings  were  those  of  pleasure  as  he 
witnessed  this  proceeding  of  his  cousin. 

"  I  take  no  aid  from  mine  enemy.  Colonel  Proctor — 
certainly  never  when  I  can  do  without  it.  You  will 
excuse  me,  therefore ;  but  I  should  regard  your  uni- 
form as  having  received  its  unnaturally  deep  red  from 
the  veins  of  my  countrymen." 

"  So  much  a  rebel  as  that.  Miss  Walton  !  It  is 
well  for  us  that  the  same  spirit  does  not  prevail  among 
your  warriors.  What  would  have  been  our  chances  of 
success  had  such  been  the  case  ?" 

"  You  think  your  conquest  then  complete,  Colonel 


142  THE    PARTISAN. 

Proctor — you  think  that  our  people  will  always  sleep 
under  oppression,  and  return  you  thanks  for  blows, 
and  homage  for  chastisement.  Believe  so — it  is  quite 
as  well." 

"  Do  the  ladies  of  Carolina  all  entertain  this  spirit, 
Miss  AValtou  ?  Will  none  of  them  take  the  aid  of 
the  gallant  knight  that  claims  service  at  their  hands  ? 
or  is  it,  as  I  believe,  that  she  stands  alone  in  this  rebel 
attitude,  an  exception  to  her  countrywomen  V 

"  Nay ;  I  cannot  now  answer  you  this  question. 
We  see  few  of  my  countrywomen  or  countrymen  now, 
thanks  to  our  enemies ;  and  1  have  learned  to  forbear 
asking  what  they  need  or  desire.  It  is  enough  for  me 
that  when  I  desire  the  arm  of  a  good  knight,  I  can  have 
him  at  need  without  resorting  to  that  of  an  enemy !" 

"  Indeed  !"  replied  the  other,  with  some  show  of 
curiosity — "  indeed,  you  are  fortunate  ;  but  your  ref- 
erence is  now  to  your  father  ?" 

"  My  father? — Oh,  no  !  although,  as  now,  I  not  un- 
frequently  claim  his  aid  in  preference  to  that  of  my  foe." 
"  Why   your  foe.    Miss  Walton  ?       Have   we    not 
brought  you  peace  ?     There  is  no  sti;ife  now  in  Caro- 
lina." 

"  Peace,  indeed  !  the  peace  of  fear,  that  is  kept  from 
action  by  chains  and  the  dread  of  punishment !  Call 
you  that  peace  ?  It  is  a  peace  that  is  false  and  cannot 
last.     You  will  see." 

"  Be  it  as  you  say.  Still  we  are  no  enemies — we 
who  serve  your  monarch  as  our  own,  and  simply  en- 
force those  laws  which  we  are  all  bound  in  common  to 
obey." 

"  No  monarch  of  mine,  if  you  please.  I  care  not  a 
straw  for  him,  and  don't  understand,  and  never  could, 
the  pretensions  of  your  kings  and  princes,  your  divine 
rights,  and  your  established  and  immutable  systems  of 
human  government,  humanity  itself  being  mutable, 
hourly  undergoing  change,  and  hourly  in  advance  of 
government." 

"  Why,  this  is  to  be  a  rebel ;  but  we  shall  not  dis- 
pute, Miss  Walton.     It  is  Avell  for  us,  as  I  have  said 


THE    PARTISAN.  143 

before,  that  such  are  not  the  sentiments  of  your  ■wai'- 
riors  ;  else,  stimulated,  as  they  must  have  been,  by  the 
pleadings  of  lips  like  yours,  they  must  have  been  in- 
vincible. It  will  not  indicate  too  much  simplicity,  if  I 
marvel  that  their  utterance  hitherto  has  availed  so  little 
in  bringing  your  men  into  the  field.  We  have  not 
easily  found  our  foes  in  a  country  in  which,  indeed,  it 
is  our  chief  desire  to  find  friends  only." 

"  It  follows  from  this,  Colonel  Proctor,  that  there  is 
only  so  much  more  safety  for  his  majesty's  more  loyal 
subjects." 

"  You  are  incorrigible.  Miss  Walton." 

"  No,  sir  ;  only  too  indulgent — too  like  my  country- 
men— dreading  the  combat  which  I  yet  see  is  a  neces- 
sity." 

"  If  so,  why  has  there  been  so  little  opposition  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  you  will  not  always  ask  the  question." 

"You  still  have  hopes,  then,  of  the  rebel  cause." 

"  My  country's  cause,  Colonel  Proctor,  if  you  please. 
I  still  have  hopes  ;  and  I  trust  that  his  majesty's  arms 
may  not  long  have  the  regret  of  continuing  a  warfare 
so  little  stimulating  to  their  enterprise,  and  so  little 
calculated  to  yield  them  honour." 

The  British  colonel  bowed  at  the  equivocal  senti- 
ment, and  after  a  pause  of  a  few  moments  the  lady 
proceeded — 

"  And  yet,  Colonel  Proctor,  not  to  speak  too  freely 
of  matters  of  which  my  sex  can  know  so  little,  I  must 
say,  knowing  as  I  do  the  spirit  of  some  among  my 
countrymen — I  must  say,  it  has  greatly  surprised  me 
that  your  conquests  should  have  been  usually  so  easy." 

"  That  need  not  surprise  you.  Miss  Walton ;  you 
remember  that  ours  are  British  soldiers" — smiling, 
and  with  a  bow,  was  the  response  of  the  colonel. 

"  By  which  I  am  to  understand,  on  the  authority  of 
one  of  the  parties,  its  own  invincibility.  It  is  with 
your  corps,  I  believe,  that  the  sentiment  runs,  though 
they  do  not — '  we  never  retreat,  we  die.'  Unquestion- 
able authority,  surely ;  and  it  may  be  that  such  is  the 
case.     Few  persons  think  more  highly  of  British  val- 


144  THE    PARTISAN. 

lour  than  the  Carolinians.  Father,  you,  I  know,  think 
extravagantly  of  it ;  and  cousin  Robert,  too  :  I  have 
heard  you  both  speak  in  terms  which  fully  sustain  you. 
Colonel  Proctor,  in  what  might  be  called  the  self-com- 
plaisance which  just  now  assigned  the  cause  of  your 
success." 

Colouring  somewhat,  and  with  a  grave  tone  of  voice, 
that  was  not  his  wont,  Colonel  Proctor  replied — 

"  There  is  truth  in  what  I  have  told  you,  Miss 
Walton ;  the  British  soldier  fights  with  a  perfect  faith 
in  his  invincibility,  and  this  faith  enables  him  to  realize 
it.  The  first  lesson  of  the  good  officer  is  to  prepare 
the  minds  of  his  men  with  this  confidence,  not  only  in 
their  own  valour,  but  in  their  own  good  fortune." 

"  And  yet,  Colonel  Proctor,  I  am  not  so  sure  that  the 
brave  young  men  I  have  known,  such  as  cousin  Rob- 
ert— the  major,  for  he  is  a  major,  father — so  Emily 
says — I  am  not  so  sure  that  they  will  fight  the  less 
against  you  on  that  account.  Robert  I  know  too  well 
to  believe  that  he  has  any  fears,  though  he  thinks  as 
highly  of  British  valour  as  anybody  else." 
h  "  Who  is  this  Robert,  Miss  Walton,  of  whom  you 
appear  to  think  so  highly  ?" 

There  was  something  of  pique  in  the  manner  and 
language  of  Proctor  as  he  made  the  inquiry,  and  with 
a  singular  change  in  her  own  manner,  in  which  she 
took  her  loftiest  attitude  and  looked  her  sternest  ex- 
pression, Katharine  Walton  replied — 

"  A  relative,  sir,  a  near  relative  ;  Robert  Singleton — 
Major  Robert  Singleton,  I  should  say — a  gentleman  in 
the  commission  of  Governor  Rutledge." 

"  Ha !  a  major,  too,  and  in  the  rebel  army  !"  said 
the  other.  "  Well,  Miss  Walton,  I  may  have  the 
honour,  and  hope  some  day  to  have  the  pleasure,  to 
meet  with  your  cousin." 

The  manner  of  the  speaker  was  respectful,  but 
there  was  a  something  of  sarcasm — so  Katharine 
thought — in  his  tones,  and  her  reply  was  immediate. 

"  We  need  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure  to  either 
p^irty  ftom  the  meeting,  Colonel  Proctor ;  but  if  you  do 


THE    PARTISAN.  145 

meet  with  him,  knowing  Robert  as  I  do,  you  will  most 
probably,  if  you  have  time,  remember  this  conversa- 
tion." 

Proctor  bit  his  lip.  He  could  not  misunderstand  the 
sinister  meaning  of  her  reply,  but  he  said  nothing ; 
and  Colonel  Walton,  who  had  striven  to  check  the 
conversation  at  moments  when  he  became  conscious 
of  its  tenor,  now  gladly  engaged  his  guest  on  other 
and  more  legitimate  topics.  He  had  been  abstracted 
during  much  of  the  time  occupied  by  his  daughter  and 
Proctor  in  their  rather  brusque  dialogue  ;  but  even  in 
the  more  spirited  portions  of  it,  nothing  was  said  by 
the  maiden  that  was  not  a  familiar  sentiment  in  the 
mouths  of  those  Carolinian  ladies,  who  were  proud  to 
share  with  their  countrymen  in  the  opprobrious  epithet 
of  rebel,  conferred  on  them  in  no  stinted  terms  by  their 
invaders.  Meanwhile  Major  Singleton,  in  his  cover, 
to  whose  ears  portions  of  the  dialogue  had  come,  was 
no  little  gladdened  by  what  he  had  heard,  and  could  not 
forbear  muttering  to  himself — "  Now,  bless  the  girl ! 
she  is  a  jewel  of  a  thousand."  But  the  dark  was  now 
rapidly  settling  down  upon  the  spot,  and  the  dews,  be- 
ginning to  fall,  warned  Kate  of  her  duty  to  her  invalid 
cousin.  Withdrawing  her  arm  from  her  father,  she 
approached  Emily,  and  reminded  her  of  the  propriety 
of  returning  to  the  dwelling.  Her  feeble  lips  parted 
in  a  murmured  reply,  all  gentleness  and.  dependence — 

"  Yes,  Kate,  you  are  right.  I  have  been  wishing  it, 
for  I  am  rather  tired.  Do  fix  this  handkerchief,  cousin, 
higher  and  close  to  my  neck — there,  that  will  do." 

She  still  retained  Dickson's  arm,  while  she  passed 
one  of  her  hands  through  that  of  her  cousin.  In  this 
manner,  followed  by  Colonels  Walton  and  Proctor  at 
a  little  distance,  the  party  moved  away  and  returned  to 
the  dwelling.  Glad  of  his  release  from  the  close  im- 
prisonment of  his  bush,  the  major  now  came  forward 
with  Humphries,  who,  after  a  brief  interval,  stole  along 
by  the  inner  fence,  in  the  close  shadow  of  the  trees, 
and  with  cautious  movement  reached  a  position  which 
enabled  him  to  see  when  the  British  officers  took  their 

Vol.  I.— N 


146  THE    PARTISAN. 

departure.  His  delay  to  return,  though  not  long  pro- 
tracted, for  the  guests  only  waited  to  see  the  ladies 
safely  seated  and  to  make  their  adieus,  was,  however, 
an  age  to  his  companion.  Singleton  was  impatient  to 
present  himself  to  his  fair  cousin,  whose  dialogue  with 
Proctor  had  given  him  all  the  gratification  which  a 
lover  must  always  feel,  who  hears  from  the  lips  of  her 
he  loves,  not  only  those  sentiments  which  his  own 
sense  approves,  but  the  general  language  of  regard  for 
himself,  even  so  slight  and  passing  as  that  which  had 
fallen  from  his  cousin  in  reference  to  him.  She  had 
spoken  in  a  tone  and  manner  which  was  common,  in- 
deed, to  the  better  informed,  the  more  elevated  and 
refined  of  the  Carolina  ladies  at  that  period ;  when, 
as  full  of  patriotic  daring  as  its  sons,  they  warmed  and 
stimulated  their  adventurous  courage,  and  undertook 
missions  of  peril  and  privation,  which  are  now  on  re- 
cord in  honourable  evidence  of  their  fearlessness,  sen- 
sibility, and  love  of  country.  It  was  not  long  after  this, 
when  his  trusty  lieutenant  returned  to  him,  giving  him 
the  pleasing  intelligence  of  the  departure  of  Proctor 
and  his  companion.  Waiting  for  no  messenger,  Sin- 
gleton at  once  hurried  to  the  dwelling  of  his  uncle,  and 
leaving  Humphries  in  the  hall,  in  the  passage-way 
leading  to  the  upper  apartments  the  first  person  he  met 
was  Kate. 

"  Why  Robert,  cousin  Robert,  is  it  you  !" 
The  heart  of  the  youth  had  been  so  much  warmed 
towards  her  by  what  he  had  heard  in  the  previous  dia- 
logue, that  his  manner  and  language  had  in  them  much 
more  of  passionate  warmth  than  was  altogether  custom- 
ary even  with  him. 

"  Dear,  dear  Kate,  how  I  rejoice  to  see  you  !" 
"Bless  me,  cousin,  how  affectionate  you  have  be- 
come all  at  once  !    There's  no  end  to  you — there — have 
done  with  your  squeezing.     Hold  my  hand  quietly,  as 
if  you  had  no  wish  to  carry  off  the  fingers,  and  I  will 
conduct  you  to  your  sister." 
"  And  Emily  V 
He  urged  the  question  in  an  under-totie,  and  the  eyes 


THE    PARTISAN.  147 

of  his  cousin  were   filled  with   tears  as  she  replied 
hastily — 

"  Is  nigher  heaven  every  day — but  come." 

As  they  walked  to  an  inner  apartment,  he  told  her 
of  his  previous  concealment,  and  the  partial  use  he 
had  made  of  his  ears  while  her  chat  with  Proctor  had 
been  going  on. 

"  And  you  heard — what  ?" 

"  Not  much,  Kate  ;  only  that  you  have  not  deserted 
your  country  yet,  when  so  many  are  traitors  to  her." 

The  light  was  not  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  see  it, 
but  there  was  a  rich  flush  upon  the  cheek  of  his  com- 
panion as  he  repeated  some  portions  of  the  conversa- 
tion he  had  heard,  which  would  have  made  him  better 
satisfied  that  her  capriciousness  was  not  so  very  per- 
manent in  its  nature.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  in 
the  apartment  where,  extended  upon  a  sofa,  lay  the 
slight  and  shadowy  person  of  Emily  Singleton.  Her 
brother  was  beside  her  in  an  instant,  and  she  was 
wrapped  in  his  arms. 

"  Emily — dear,  dear  sister — my  only — my  all !"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  pressed  his  lips  warmly  upon  her 
cheek. 

"  Dear  Robert,  you  are  come  !  I  am  glad,  but  release 
me  now — there." 

She  breathed  more  freely, released  from  his  embrace, 
and  he  then  gazed  upon  her  with  a  painful  sort  of 
pleasure,  her  look  was  so  clear,  so  dazzling,  so  spirit- 
ual, so  unnaturally  life-like. 

"  Sit  by  me,"  she  said.  He  drew  a  low  bench,  and 
while  he  took  his  seat  upon  it,  Katharine  left  the 
room.  Emily  put  her  hand  into  that  of  her  brother, 
and  looked  into  his  face  without  speaking  for  several 
minutes.  His  voice,  too,  was  husky  when  he  spoke, 
so  that,  when  his  cousin  had  returned  to  the  apartment, 
though  all  feelings  between  them  had  been  perfectly 
understood,  but  few  words  had  been  said. 

"  Sit  closer,  brother — sit,"  she  said  to  him,  fondly, 
and  motioned  him  to  draw  the  bench  beside  her. 
He   did  so,  and  in  her  feeble  tones  many  were  the 


148  THE    PARTISAN. 

questions  which  the  dying  girl  addressed  to  her  com- 
panion. All  the  domestic  associations  of  her  home 
on  the  Santee — the  home  of  her  childhood  and  its 
pleasures,  when  she  had  hopes  and  dreams  of  the  fu- 
ture, and  disease  had  not  yet  shown  upon  her  sys- 
tem. To  these  questions  his  answers  were  made 
with  difficulty ;  many  things  had  occuri'ed,  since  her 
departure,  which  would  have  been  too  trying  for  her 
to  hear.  She  found  his  replies  unsatisfactory,  there- 
fore, and  she  pressed  them  almost  reproachfully — 

"  And  you  have  told  me  nothing  of  old  mommer* 
Robert :  is  she  not  well  \  does  she  not  miss  me  ? 
did  she  not  wish  to  come  1  And  Frill,  the  pointer — 
the  poor  dog — I  wonder  who  feeds  him  now.  I  wish 
you  could  have  brought  mommer  with  you,  Robert — I 
should  like  to  have  her  attend  on  me,  she  knows  my 
ways  and  wishes  so  much  better  than  anybody  else. 
I  should  not  want  her  long."  And  though  she  con- 
cluded her  desire  with  a  reference  to  her  approaching 
fate,  the  sigh  which  followed  was  inaudible  to  her 
brother. 

"  But  you  are  well  attended  here,  Emily,  my  dear. 
Cousin  Kate — " 

"  Is  a  sister,  and  all  that  I  could  desire,  and  I  am  as 
well  attended  as  I  could  be  anywhere  ;  but  it  is  thus  that 
we  repine.  I  only  wished  for  mommer,  as  we  wish 
for  an  old-time  prospect  which  has  grown  so  familiar 
to  our  eyes  that  it  seems  to  form  a  part  of  the  sight : 
so,  indeed,  though  every  thing  is  beautiful  and  delight- 

*  In  all  native  Carolina  families  there  are  two  or  more  favourite 
domestic  slaves,  between  whom  and  their  owners  there  exists  a 
degree  of  regard  which  does  not  fall  short  in  its  character  and  effects 
of  the  most  endearing  relationship.  One  of  these  persons  is  usually 
the  negro  woman  who  has  charge  of  the  children  from  their  infancy. 
The  word  " mommer"  probably  a  corruption  of  mamma,  is  that  by 
which  they  commonly  distinguish  her ;  and  it  is  not  unusual  to  hear 
the  word  thus  employed  in  reference  to  the  ancient  nurse,  by  those 
who  have  long  since  become  parents  themselves.  The  male  negro 
who  teaches  young  master  to  ride,  and  whose  common  duty  it  is  to 
attend  upon  him,  is,  in  the  same  spirit,  styled  "  daddy"  by  his  unso- 
phisticated pupil.  Nor  is  this  a  partial  fact.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
perfectly  safe  to  assert,  that  there  are  at  least  two  or  three  negroes 
in  every  Carolina  family,  between  whom  and  their  owners  this  agree- 
able relationship  exists. 


THE    PARTISAN.  149 

ful  about  '  The  Oaks,'  I  still  long  to  ramble  over  our 
old  walks  among  the  '  Hills.'  " 

The  brow  of  Singleton  blackened  as  she  thus  pass- 
ingly alluded  to  the  beautiful  estate  of  his  fathers,  but 
he  said  nothing,  and  she  proceeded  in  her  inquiries — 

"  And  the  garden,  Robert — my  garden,  you  know. 
Do,  when  you  go  back,  see  that  Luke  keeps  the  box 
trimmed,  and  the  hedge  ;  the  morning  I  left  it,  it  looked 
very  luxuriant.  I  was  too  hurried  to  give  him  orders, 
but  do  you  attend  to  it  when  you  return.  He  is  quite 
too  apt  to  leave  it  to  itself." 

There  was  much  in  these  simple  matters  to  distress 
her  brother,  of  which  she  was  fortunately  ignorant. 
How  could  he  say  to  the  dying  girl,  that  her  mommer, 
severely  beaten  by  the  tories,  had  fled  into  the  swamps 
for  shelter? — that  her  favourite  dog.  Frill,  had  been 
shot  down,  as  he  ran,  by  the  same  brutal  wretches  ? — 
that  the  mansion-house  of  her  parents,  her  favourite 
garden,  had  been  devastated  by  fire,  applied  by  the 
same  cruel  hands  1 — that  Luke  the  gardener,  and  all 
the  slaves  who  remained  unstolen,  had  fled  for  safety 
into  the  thick  recesses  of  the  Santee  ? — how  could  he 
tell  her  this  ?  The  ruin  which  had  harrowed  his  own  soul 
almost  to  madness,  would  have  been  instant  death  to 
her ;  and  though  the  tears  were  with  difficulty  kept 
back  from  his  eyes,  he  replied  calmly,  and  with  suf- 
ficient evasion  successfully  to  deceive  the  sufferer. 
At  this  moment  Katharine  re-entered  the  apartment, 
and  relieved  him  by  her  presence.  He  rose  from  the 
bench,  and  prepared  to  attend  upon  his  uncle,  who  as 
yet  remained  in  his  chamber  unapprized  of  his  arrival. 
He  bent  down,  and  his  lips  pressed  once  more  upon 
the  brow  of  his  sister.  She  put  her  hand  into  his, 
and  looked  into  his  face  for  several  minutes  without 
speaking ;  and  that  look — so  pure,  so  bright,  so  fond — 
so  becoming  of  heaven,  yet  so  hopeless  of  earth — he 
could  bear  the  gaze  no  longer  ;  the  emotion  rose  shiv- 
eringly  in  his  soul — the  tears  could  be  no  longer  kept 
from  gushing  forth,  and  he  hurried  from  her  sight  to 
conceal  them. 


150  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Oh,  why — why,"  he  said,  in  a  burst  of  passionate 
emotion,  as  he  hurried  below — "  wherefore,  great 
Father  of  Mercies,  wherefore  is  this  doom  ?  Why 
should  the  good  and  the  beautiful  so  early  perish — why 
should  they  perish  at  all  1  Sad,  sad,  that  the  creature 
so  made  to  love  and  be  beloved,  should  have  lived  in 
affliction,  and  died  without  having  the  feelings  once  ex- 
ercised, which  in  it  have  been  so  sweet  and  innocent. 
Even  death  is  beautiful  and  soft,  seen  in  her  eyes,  and 
gathering  in  words  that  come  from  her  lips  like  the 
dropping  of  so  much  music  from  heaven.    Poor  Emily !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  The  time  is  come ;  thy  chances  of  escape 
Grow  narrow,  and  thou  hast,  to  save  thyself, 
But  one  resolve.    Take  oath  with  us  and  live." 

Colonel  Walton,  upon  the  departure  of  his  guests, 
retired  to  an  inner  apartment.  His  spirits,  depressed 
enough  before,  were  now  considerably  more  so.  Min- 
gled feelings  were  at  strife  in  his  bosom — doubts  and 
fears,  hopes  and  misgivings — a  sense  of  degradation 
— a  more  unpleasant  consciousness  of  shame.  The 
difficulties  of  his  situation  grew  and  gathered  before 
•his  eyes  the  more  he  surveyed  them ;  they  called  for 
deliberate  thought,  yet  they  also  demanded  early  and 
seasonable  determination.  The  time  allowed  him  for 
decision  by  the  ruling  powers  was  brief,  and  the  mat- 
ter to  be  decided  involved,  in  addition  to  the  personal 
risks  of  life  and  liberty,  the  probable  forfeiture  of  an 
immense  estate,  and  the  beggary,  in  consequence,  of 
an  only  and  beloved  daughter.  To  save  these,  in  part, 
from  what  he  conceived  otherwise  to  be  inevitable 
ruin,  he  had  originally  laid  aside  his  arms.  He  was 
now  taught,  in  the  strongest  lights,  the  error  of  which 
he  had  been  guilty  in  yielding  so  readily  to  circum- 


THE    PARTISAN.  151 

Stances — placing  himself  so  completely,  not  only  in 
the  power  of  his  enemy,  but  in  the  wrong  ;  in  having 
foregone  that  fine  sense  of  national  honour,  without 
which  the  citizen  merits  not  the  name,  and  has  no 
real  claim  upon  the  protection  of  his  country.  This 
sacrifice  he  had  made  without  realizing,  in  its  place, 
that  very  security  of  person  and  property,  its  pledged 
equivalent,  which  had  been  the  price  of  its  surrender. 
Bitterly,  in  that  moment  of  self-examination,  did  he  re- 
proach himself  with  the  unmanly  error.  Truly  did 
he  feel,  by  his  present  situation,  that  he  who  submits 
to  tyranny  arms  it ;  and  by  not  opposing  it,  weakens 
that  power, — better  principled,  or  with  better  courage 
than  himself, — which  battles  with  it  to  the  last. 

The  exigency  grew  more  and  more  involved  the 
more  he  thought  upon  it.  He  could  see  but  one  alter- 
native left  him, — that  which  he  had  already  hinted  to 
Colonel  Proctor,  of  again  lifting  his  sword ;  and,  if  com- 
pelled to  use  it,  of  doing  so  for  the  only  cause  which 
he  could  consider  legitimate — that  of  his  country.  Yet, 
how  hopeless,  how  rash  and  ill-advised,  at  that  moment, 
seemed  the  adoption  of  such  an  alternative  !  The 
people  of  the  colony  had  all  submitted ;  so  it  seemed, 
at  least,  in  the  absence  of  all  opposition  to  the  advan- 
cing armies  of  the  British.  They  scoured  the  country 
on  every  side.  They  planted  posts,  the  better  to  over- 
awe thef  disaffected  and  confirm  their  conquests,  in 
every  conspicuous  or  populous  region  ;  and  though 
tyrannizing  everywhere  with  reckless  rule  and  a  rod 
of  iron,  the  people  seemed  to  prefer  a  lot  so  burden- 
some and  wretched,  rather  than  exchange  it  for  a  strife 
having  not  one  solitary  hope  to  recommend  it.  Such 
was  the  condition  of  things  in  Carolina  at  the  time  of 
which  we  write,  just  after  the  parting  proclamation  of 
Sir  Henry  Clinton,  when,  upon  transferring  the  south- 
ern command  to  Lord  Cornvvallis,  he  adopted  this  mode 
of  strengthening  his  successor  by  the  employment  of 
the  native  militia.  Colonel  Walton  was  not  a  coward, 
but  he  deliberated  carefully  upon  all  adventure  involv- 
ing peril  in  its  progress.     The  circumstances  in  which 


153  THE    PARTISAN. 

the  colony  stood  at  that  period  were  too  obvious  not  to 
be  considered ;  and  desperate  and  degrading  as  were 
the  requirements  of  the  proclamation,  he  saw  no  mode 
of  escape  from  them.  What  if  he  drew  the  sword  1 
would  he  not  draw  it  alone  1  Where  should  he  find 
support  ?  To  what  spot  should  he  turn — where  strike 
— where  make  head  against  the  enemy  ? — where,  ex- 
cept in  the  remoter  colonies,  where  a  doubtful  struggle 
was  still  maintained — doubtful  in  its  results,  and  only 
exposing  its  defenders  there  to  the  same  fate  he  was 
now  about  to  encounter  in  his  native  soil  1  The  pros- 
pect grew  brighter  a  short  time  after,  when  Sumter 
came  plunging  down  from  North  Carolina  with  the 
fierce  rapidity  of  flame  ;  when  Marion  emerged  from 
his  swamps  on  the  Peedee  and  Black  River,  with  the 
subtle  certainty  which  belongs  to  skill  and  caution 
mingled  with  determined  and  fearless  valour ;  and 
when,  like  our  hero  Major  Singleton,  a  hundred  brave 
young  partisan  leaders,  starting  suddenly  up,  with  their 
little  squads,  on  every  side  throughout  the  country, 
prepared  to  take  terrible  vengeance  for  the  thousand 
wantonly  inflicted  sufferings  which  their  friends  and 
families  had  been  made  to  bear  at  the  hands  of  their 
enemies. 

Leaving  his  companion,  Humphries,  comfortably 
cared  for  in  the  hall,  along  with  Miss  Barbara  Walton, 
the  maiden  sister  of  the  colonel.  Major  Singleton  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  the  apartment  where  his  uncle  con- 
tinued to  chafe  in  his  many  bewilderments  of  situation. 
He  found  him  pacing  hurriedly  along  the  room,  his 
strides  duly  increasing  in  length  with  the  increasing 
confusion  of  his  thoughts.  These  occasionally  found 
their  way  to  his  lips  in  soliloquizing  musings,  and  now 
and  then  took  on  them  a  shape  of  passionate  denunci- 
ation. Too  much  absorbed  for  the  time  to  notice  the 
approach  of  his  nephew,,  he  continued  to  mutter  over 
his  discontents,  and  in  this  way  conveyed  to  the  major 
a  knowledge  of  his  precise  feelings.  Familiar  as  he 
was  with  his  uncle's  character,  Major  Singleton  had 
properly  estimated  the  effect  upon  him  of  Clinton's 


THE    PARTISAN.  153 

proclamation,  and  he  now  came  forward  seasonably  to 
his  assistance.  The  colonel  turned  as  he  drew  nigh, 
and  for  a  moment  the  pleasurable  emotion  with  which 
he  met  the  child  of  his  sister,  and  one  who  had  long 
been  a  very  great  favourite  with  himself,  drove  away 
many  of  the  troublesome  thoughts  which  had  been 
busy  with  his  mind. 

"  Ah,  Robert ! — my  dear  boy  !  when  did  you  arrive, 
and  how  ?" 

"  On  horseback,  sir.  I  reached  Dorchester  yester- 
day." 

"  Indeed  !  so  long — and  only  now  a  visiter  of  '  The 
Oaks  V     You  surely  mean  to  lodge  with  us,  Robert  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  uncle  ;  but  that  I  dare  not  do.  I 
should  not  feel  myself  altogether  safe  here." 

"  Not  safe  in  my  house  !  What  mean  you,  nephew  1 
Whence  the  danger — what  have  you  to  fear  ?" 

"  Nothing  to  fear,  if  I  avoid  the  danger.  You  forget, 
sir,  that  I  have  not  the  security  of  British  favour — I 
have  not  the  talisman  of  Clinton's  protection — and  if 
suspected  to  be  Major  Singleton,  I  should  risk  the  rope 
as  a  rebel." 

"  True,  true — but  how  left  you  things  at  Santee  ? 
What  are  the  prospects  of  a  crop  ?" 

"  Such  as  the  storm  leaves  us,  good  uncle.  The 
tories  have  been  sowing  fire  in  my  fields,  and  left  it  to 
ripen  in  lieu  of  corn  and  provender." 

"  God  bless  me,  my  son  ! — how  was  that  ?" 

"  They  suspected  me,  hearing  that  I  was  from  home 
— made  free  with  my  plate,  burnt  the  mansion,  barn, 
and  a  few  other  of  the  buildings,  drove  the  negroes 
into  the  swamp,  and  sent  their  horses  first,  and  then 
the  fire,  into  the  cornfields.  They  have  done  some 
business  tliere  after  their  usual  fashion." 

The  colonel  strode  over  the  floor,  his  hands  upon  his 
brows,  speechless  for  a  time,  but  looking  his  deep 
interest  in  the  narrative  he  had  heard,  probably  with 
more  earnestness,  as  he  darkly  saw  the  destiny  of  his 
own  fine  dwelling  and  plantation  in  it.     His  nephew 


154  THE    PARTISAN. 

surveyed  him  with  exemplary  composure  before  he 
continued  the  dialogue. 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  fortunate  that  poor  Emily  came  away 
in  season.  A  week  later,  and  Heaven  only  knows 
what  might  have  been  her  suflerings  at  the  hands  of 
the  wretches." 

"  And  where  is  this  to  end,  Robert  ?  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  Are  we  to  have  no  relief  from  Congress  1 — 
will  Washington  do  nothing  for  us  ?" 

"  Can  you  do  nothing  for  Washington  ?  Methinks, 
uncle,  Hercules  might  give  you  some  advice  quite  as 
fitting  as  that  he  gave  to  the  wagoner.  There  is  no 
helping  one's  neighbour  to  freedom.  Men  must  make 
themselves  free — they  must  have  the  will  for  it.  The 
laws  and  the  strong  arm,  unless  they  grow  out  of  their 
own  will,  never  yet*  gave,  and  never  will  give,  any 
people  their  liberty.  Have  you  not  thought  of  this, 
sir,  before  ?" 

"  Why,  what  would  you  have  us  do  ? — what  can  we 
do,  hemmed  in  as  we  are,  wanting  arms  and  ammuni- 
tion, and  with  a  superior  force  watching  us  ?" 

"  Do  ! — ay,  you  may  well  ask  what  can  you  do. 
What  has  anybody  ever  yet  done,  that  set  forth  by  asking 
such  a  question  1  But  come,  we  will  to  supper  first ; 
there  stands  our  summoner.  We  will  try  aunt  Bar- 
bara's coffee,  of  which  I  have  an  old  memory,  and 
after  that  we  will  talk  of  what  we  can  do  in  this  mat- 
ter. Coffee  is  a  good  stimulant,  that  wonderfully  helps 
one's  courage." 

Following  the  black,  who  had  thrice  summoned 
them  without  receiving  any  attention,  they  descended 
to  the  supper-table,  spread  out  after  the  southern 
fashion,  with  the  hundred  dainties  of  the  region, — rice 
waffles  and  johnny-cake,  hominy,  and  those  delicacies 
of  the  pantry  in  the  shape  of  sweetmeats  and  pre- 
serves, which  speak  of  a  wholesome  household  econ- 
omy, the  fashion  of  which  is  not  yet  gone  from  the 
same  neighbourhood.  There,  presiding  in  all  the  dig- 
nity of  starched  coif,  ruff,  and  wimple,  sat  stiffly  the 
antique  person  of  Miss  Barbara  Walton,  the  maiden 


THE    PARTISAN.  155 

sister  of  the  colonel ;  there,  also,  in  his  homespun  coat 
turned  up  at  the  sleeves,  and  with  hands  that  were  not 
idle,  our  old  acquaintance,  Humphries,  listening  pa- 
tiently, all  the  while,  to  a  bitter  complaint  of  Miss 
Barbara  about  the  diminished  and  daily  diminishing 
number  of  her  brother's  best  cows,  the  loss  of  which 
could  only  be  ascribed  to  the  tories.  Beside  him  sat 
the  fair  Kate  Walton,  amused  with  the  efforts  which 
Humphries  made,  while  equally  desirous  to  do  the  sup- 
per justice,  and  to  appear  attentive  to  the  ancient  lady. 
A.nd  there,  reclining  on  a  sofa  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  table,  lay  the  attenuated  figure  of  Emily  Sin- 
gleton— pale  as  a  white  rose,  and,  as  if  her  thoughts 
were  fast  claiming  kindred  with  heaven,  almost  as  silent 
as  one.  Major  Singleton  had  a  seat  assigned  him  front- 
ing his  cousin ;  and  the  little  chit-chat  which  followed 
his  and  his  uncle's  entrance  was  duly  suspended  with 
the  progress  of  the  repast.  To  travellers  who  had 
toiled  so  much  during  the  day  as  Singleton  and  his 
lieutenant,  the  supper  was  an  item  of  importance,  and 
we  need  not  say  that  it  received  full  justice  at  their 
hands.  It  was  only  when  roused  into  consciousness 
by  the  very  absence  of  all  speech  around  thern,  that 
the  soldiers  looked  up,  in  a  brief  pause  in  their  pro- 
gress, and  found  that  they  only  had  been  busy.  This 
fact  offered  no  stop,  however,  to  their  continued  indus- 
try— to  that  of  Humphries,  at  least. 

"  Them  are  mighty  nice  waffles,  now,  major ;  they'd 
please  you,  I  reckon." 

Cuffee,  one  of  the  black  waiters,  with  the  proper 
instinct  of  a  good  house-servant,  at  once  placed  the 
dish  before  the  speaker  himself,  and  his  plate  received 
a  new  supply.  Singleton  kept  him  company,  and  the 
host  trifled  with  his  coffee,  in  order  to  do  the  same. 
Tea  was  anti-republican  then,  and  only  the  tories 
drank  it.  Finding  that  a  cessation  had  really  taken 
place.  Miss  Barbara  commenced  her  interrogatories, 
which,  with  sundry  others  put  by  his  cousin  Kate, 
Major  Singleton  soon  answered.  These  matters,  how- 
ever, chiefly  concerned  old  friends  and  acquaintances, 


■i^ 


156  THE    PARTISAN. 

little  domestic  anecdotes,  and  such  other  subjects  as 
the  ladies  usually  delight  to  engage  in.  More  serious 
thoughts  were  in  Colonel  Walton's  mind,  and  his  ques- 
tions had  reference  to  the  public  and  to  the  country — 
the  war  and  its  prospects. 

"  And  now,  Robert,  your  news,  your  news.  You 
look  as  if  you  had  much  more  in  your  budget  of  far 
more  importance.  Pray,  out  with  it,  and  refresh  us. 
We  are  only  half  alive  here,  good  nephew." 

"  Do  you  live  at  all  here,  uncle,  and  how  ?  How 
much  breath  is  j)ermitted  you  by  your  masters  for  your 
daily  allowance  ?  and,  by-the-way,  the  next  question 
naturally  is — how  go  on  the  confiscations?  You  still 
keep  '  The  Oaks,'  I  see  ;  but  how  long — how  long  ?" 

The  nephew  had  touched  the  key  to  a  harsh  note ; 
and  bitter,  indeed,  was  the  tone  and  manner  of  Colonel 
Walton,  as  he  replied — 

"  Ay,  how  long — how  long,  indeed,  am  I  to  keep  in 
the  home  of  my  fathers — the  old  barony,  one  of  the 
very  first  in  the  colony  ?  God  only  knows  how  soon 
the  court  of  sequestration  will  find  it  better  suited  to  a 
stranger  rule  ;  and  1  must  prepare  myself,  I  suppose, 
for  some  such  change.  I  cannot  hope  to  escape  very 
long,  when  so  many  sufTer  confiscation  around  me." 

"Fear  not  for  '  The  Oaks,'  uncle,  so  long  as  you 
keep  cool,  submit,  swear  freely,  and  subscribe  humbly. 
Send  now  and  then  a  trim  present  of  venison  and  tur- 
key to  the  captain's  quarters,  and  occasionally  volun- 
teer to  hang  a  poor  countiyraan,  who  loves  war  to 
the  knife  better  than  degradation,  lo  the  chain.  There 
can  be  no  difficulty  in  keeping  '  The  Oaks,'  uncle,  if 
you  only  continue  to  keep  your  temper." 

"  Nay,  Robert,  sarcasm  is  unnecessary  now,  and 
with  me  :  I  need  no  reproaches  of  yours  to  make  me 
feel  in  this  matter." 

"  What,  uncle,  are  you  in  that  vein  ?  Have  your 
eyes  been  opened  to  the  light  at  last  ?" 

"  Somewhat,  Robert — but  a  truce  to  this  for  the 
present.  Let  us  have  your  intelligence  from  Santee. 
They  talk  here  of  some  risings  in  that  quarter,  but  we 


THE    PART1SA.N.  157 

have  no  particulars,  and  know  notliing  of  the  success 
of  either  party.  There  is  also  some  story  of  approach- 
ing continentals.  Has  Congress  really  given  us  an 
army  ?  and  who  is  to  command  it  ?  Speak,  boy  ;  out 
with  your  budget." 

"  Thank  you,  good  mine  uncle ;  but  how  know  I 
that  I  unfold  my  budget  to  a  friend,  and  not  to  an  en- 
emy ?  What  security  do  you  give  me  that  I  talk  not 
with  a  devout  and  loyal  subject  of  his  majesty — so 
very  much  a  lover  of  the  divine  right  of  kings,  that  he 
would  freely  lend  a  hand  to  run  up  his  own  nephew 
to  a  swinging  bough,  the  better  to  compel  the  same 
faith  in  others  V 

"  Pshaw  !  Robert,  you  speak  idly  :  you  mean  not  to 
suppose  me  a  tory  ?"  The  brow  of  Colonel  Walton 
darkened  awfully  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  have  little  faith  in  neutrals,"  was  the  calm  reply  ; 
"  I  hold  to  the  goodly  whig  proverb,  '  He  who  is  not 
for  me,  is  against  me.'  Pardon  m.e,  therefore,  uncle, 
if  I  prefer — 1  who  am  a  whig — to  speak  to  you,  who 
are  neither  whig  nor  Englishman,  after  such  a  fashion 
as  shall  not  make  you  the  keeper  of  unnecessary  se- 
crets, and  expose  a  good  cause  to  overthrow,  and  its 
friends  to  injury." 

The  taunt  thus  uttered  with  a  most  provoking  and 
biting  dryness  of  phrase,  operated  strongly  upon  the 
mind  of  the  colonel,  already  acted  upon,  in  no  small 
degree,  by  his  own  previous  rebukings  of  conscience  to 
the  same  effect.  He  exclaimed,  bitterly,  as,  rising  from 
the  supper-table,  he  strode  away  under  the  momentary 
impulse — 

"Ay,  by  heaven  !  but  your  words  are  true.  Who 
should  esteem  the  neutral,  when  his  country  is  in  dan- 
ger, and  when  her  people  are  writhing  under  oppres- 
sion ]  True,  though  bitter — more  bitter,  as  it  is  true. 
Robert  Singleton,  thou  hast  given  me  a  keen  stroke, 
boy,  but  I  have  deserved  it.  Thou  hast  spoken  nothing 
but  the  truth." 

"  Now,  indeed,  uncle,  I  rejoice  to  see  you,  and  in 
this  humour.     You  have  felt  the  stroke  at  last,  but  it 

Vol.  I.— 0 


158  THE    PARTISAN. 

is  not  my  speech  that  has  done  it,  uncle  jof  mine.  Il 
is  the  proclamation  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton." 

The  youth  fixed  his  eye  keenly,  as  he  spoke,  upon 
the  face  of  Colonel  Walton,  while  his  glance  indicated 
a  sort  of  triumphant  joy,  finely  contrasted  with  the  dis- 
quietude and  vexing  indignation  sti-ongly  legible  upon 
the  face  of  his  imcle. 

"  You  are  right  there,  too,  Robert.  I  confess  not^i 
to  have  thought  so  seriously  upon  this  matter — not, 
certainly,  so  much  to  the  point — as  after  hearing  the 
contents  of  that  dishonourable  instrument  of  Sir  Henry 
Clinton — God  curse  him  for  it !" 

"  God  bless  him  for  it,  I  say,  if  for  nothing  else  that 
he  has  done,"  immediately  rejoined  the  nephew.  "  My 
prayers  have  been  heard  in  that ;  and  this  proclamation 
of  the  tyi-ant  is  the  very  best  thing  that  he  could  have 
done  for  our  cause  and  country,  and  the  very  thing  that 
I  have  most  prayed  for." 

"  Indeed  !  Major  Singleton,  you  surprise  me.  What 
should  there  be  so  very  grateful  to  you — so  worthy  of 
your  prayers  and  acknowledgment — in  this  proceeding 
of  Sir  Henry  Clinton  ?"  inquired  the  other,  with  some- 
thing more  of  stiffness  and  hauteur  in  his  manner. 

"  Much,  Colonel  Walton,  very  much.  As  a  true 
patriot,  and  a  lover  of  his  country  at  every  hazard,  I 
prayed  that  the  time  might  soon  come,  when  the 
oppressor  should  put  his  foot — ay,  and  the  foot  of  his 
menials,  too — on  the  necks  of  those  selfish  or  spiritless, 
those  too  little  wise,  or  too  little  honourable,  who  have 
been  so  very  ready  to  hug  his  knee,  and  yield  up  to  a 
base  love  for  security  their  manly  character  and  honest 
independence.  Verily,  they  meet  with  their  reward. 
Let  them  feel  the  scourge  and  the  chain,  until,  beaten 
and  degraded,  the  stern  necessity  shall  stimulate  them 
to  the  duties  they  have  so  neglected.  I  rejoice  in  their 
desperation — I  rejoice  when  I  hear  them  groan  beneath 
the  oppression — not  only  because  they  merit  such  re- 
ward but  because  it  makes  them  stronger  in  our  cause." 

"How  know  you  that  ?"  quickly  said  the  other. 

*'  How  know  I  that  ?    Let  me  answer  that  question 


THE    PARTISAN.  159 

by  another  more  direct.  AVill  Colonel  Walton  be  able 
any  longer  to  keep  the  quiet  security  of  his  plantation, 
to  hug  his  grounds,  save  his  crops,  and  keep  his  ne- 
groes from  the  West  Indies,  without  military  service — 
active  military  service,  and  against  his  countrymen 
too — against  his  avowed  principles  V 

The  colonel  strode  the  room  impatiently.  The 
other  continued — 

"  No,  no,  good  uncle,  you  have  no  help.  Earl 
Cornwallis  compels  you  to  your  duty.  You  miist 
buckle  on  the  sword — you  must  take  up  arms  for,  or 
against,  your  people,  and  in  either  case  at  the  expense 
of  all  that  comfortable  quiet  for  which  you  have  already 
made  quite  too  many  sacrifices.  I  know  you  too  well 
to  suppose  that  you  can  fight  against  our  people — your 
people ;  and  I  am  glad  therefore  that  you  are  forced 
into  the  field.  How  many  thousands  are  in  your  con- 
dition !  how  many  that  look  up  to  j^ou,  influenced  by 
your  example !  AVill  these  not  be  be  moved  in  like 
manner  and  by  like  necessities  ?  You  will  see — we 
shall  have  an  army  of  native  citizens  before  many 
days." 

"  Perhaps  so,  Robert,  and  I  am  not  too  timid  to 
wish  that  such  may  be  its  effect.  But  is  it  not  a  dis- 
honourable deception  that  he  has  practised  in  this 
movement  ?  Did  not  the  protections  promise  us  im- 
munity in  this  particular?" 

"  No,  sir — I  think  not.  I  see  nothing  that  Clinton 
has  done  in  this  so  very  grievous.  Your  protection 
secured  you,  as  a  citizen,  to  conform  to  the  duties  of  the 
citizen,  and  to  protect  you  as  such.  One  of  the  duties 
of  the  citizen  is  the  performance  of  militia  service." 

"  Granted,  Robert — but  commutable  by  fine.  I  am 
not  unwilling  to  pay  this  fine  :  but  Clinton's  procla- 
mation insists  only  on  the  duty." 

"  And  I  am  glad  of  it.  Uncle,  uncle,  do  you  not 
see  the  dishonourable  character  of  such  an  argument? 
Your  conscience  forbids  that  you  should  serve  against 
your  country,  but  you  avoid  this  actual  service  in  your 
own  person,  by  paying  the  money  which  buys  a  mer- 


160  THE    PARTISAN. 

cenary  to  do  the  same  duty.  You  will  not  do  murder 
with  your  own  hand,  but  you  pay  another  to  perform 
the  crime.     Shame  !  shame,  I  say  !" 

"  Not  so,  Robert ;  we  know  not,  and  I  believe  not, 
that  the  money  is  so  appropriated.  It  becomes  the 
spoil  of  the  leaders,  and  simply  helps  them  to  for- 
tune." 

"  Granted,  and  the  sterner  argument  against  you  is 
yet  to  come.  You  are  wealthy,  and  avail  yourself  of 
your  good  fortune  to  buy  j^ourself  out  of  a  danger  to 
which  the  poor  man  must  submit.  By  what  right 
would  you  escape  from  and  evade  your  duties,  when  he, 
as  a  citizen,  having  the  same,  must  submit  to  their  per- 
formance? His  conscience,  like  your  own,  teaches 
him  that  to  fight  for  his  country  and  against  her  inva- 
ders is  his  first  duty.  You  evade  your  duty  by  the 
help  of  your  better  fortune,  and  leave  him,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  either  to  perish  hopelessly  in  unequal 
contest — unequal  through  your  defection — or  to  take  up 
arms  in  a  battle  to  which  his  principles  are  foreign. 
Such  is  the  effect  of  this  most  unpatriotic  reservation, 
which,  on  the  score  of  your  money,  you  have  presumed 
to  make.  You  sacrifice  your  country  doubly,  when 
you  contribute  to  violate  the  conscience  of  its  citizens. 
The  duties  of  the  rich  man — the  leading,  influential  man 
— are  those  chiefly  of  example.  What  is  our  safety,  and 
where  would  be  the  safety  of  any  nation — its  freedom 
or  its  glory — if,  when  danger  came,  its  rich  citizens 
made  terms  with  the  invader  which  sacrificed  the  poor  ? 
Such  is  your  case — such  your  proceeding  exactly. 
There  is  now,  thank  Heaven,  but  one  alternative  that 
Clinton's  proclamation  has  left  you." 

"  That  is  the  sword — I  know  it,  Ifeel  it,  Robert." 

"  Touch  it  not,  touch  it  not,  uncle,  I  pray  you,  if 
you  can  help  it,"  cried  the  feeble  girl  who  lay  gasping 
on  the  sofa.  Her  eyes  were  illuminated  with  a  holy 
fire ;  her  cheeks,  pale,  almost  transparent,  shone,  white 
and  glittering,  with  a  spiritual  glory,  from  the  pillow  on 
which  her  head  was  resting ;  while  one  of  her  long, 
taper  fingers  was  stretched  forward  with  an  adjuring 


THE    PARTISAN.  161 

earnestness.  She  had  been  a  silent  listener  with  the 
rest  to  the  warm  and  deeply  important  dialogue  which 
had  been  going  on.  The  novelty  of  the  difficulty,  for 
they  had  not  heard  of  the  proclamation  before,  had  kept 
them  dumb  until  that  moment,  when  Colonel  Walton, 
as  one  having  come  to  a  settled  conclusion,  had  referred 
to  the  sword  as  a  last  alternative.  The  gentle  spirit 
of  Emily  Singleton,  quick,  sensitive,  though  frail  and 
fleeting,  then  poured  forth  its  feeble  notes,  in  order  to 
arrest  the  decision. 

"  Oh,  touch  not  the  sword,  uncle,  I  pray  you — the 
keen  sword,  that  cuts  away  the  happy  life,  and  murders 
the  blessed,  andthe  blessing,  peace — the  peace  of  the 
innocent,  the  peace  of  the  young  and  good.  Oh, 
Robert,  wherefore  have  you  come  with  tliese  fierce 
words  ?  Is  there  to  be  no  end  to  strife — the  bloody  and 
the  brutal  strife — the  slaying  of  men — the  trampling 
of  God's  creatures  in  the  dust  ?" 

"Wliy,  sister — dear  Emily — but  how  can  we  help 
it  ?  We  must  fight  our  enemies,  or  they  will  trample 
on  us  the  more." 

"  I  see  not  that :  better  let  them  rob  and  plunder  ; 
but  take  not  life,  risk  not  life.  Life  is  holy.  None 
should  take  life  but  him  who  gives  it,  since  to  take 
life  takes  away  from  man,  not  only  the  privilege  to 
breathe,  but  the  privilege  to  repent  of  sins,  to  repair 
injustice,  to  make  himself  fit  for  immortality.  When 
you  slay  your  enemy,  you  send  him  not  merely  from  one 
world — you  send  him  into  another — and  which  1  Oh, 
brother,  dear  brother,  wherefore  would  you  engage  in 
this  horrid  war  ?  What  blessing  so  great  will  it  bring 
you,  as  to  take  from  you  the  thought  of  the  butchery  you 
must  go  through  to  secure  it  ?  Oh,  turn  not  away, 
Roliert,  but  hear  me  !  I  would  not  vex  you,  nor  would 
1  now  speak  of  things  beyond  my  poor  ability  ;  but  can 
you  not  avoid  this  fighting,  this  hewing  down  of  man, 
this  defacing  of  God's  image,  this  defiling  and  death 
of  the  goodliest  work  of  Heaven?  I  know,  Robert, 
you  have  a  true  heart,  and  love  not  such  an  employ- 
02 


162  THE    PARTISAN.  ' 

ment — say  to  me,  and  I  will  believe  you — can  you 
not  avoid  it  1" 

She  sank  back  nearly  exhausted.  Her  breath  flick- 
ered, and  the  glow^  vi^hich  now  overspread  her  cheek, 
was,  if  possible,  more  threatening  in  its  aspect  than 
the  death-like  paleness  which  habitually  rested  there. 
Her  prostration  called  for  the  quick  attention  of  her 
cousin,  and  as  Katharine  Walton  bent  over  her,  and 
her  brother  knelt  beside  her,  a  momentary  fear  came 
upon  them  both,  that  the  effort  she  had  made  had 
destroyed  her.  But  a  deep  sigh  indicated  the  returning 
consciousness,  and  the  strange,  spiritual  light  ascended 
once  more  into  and  rekindled  her  eyes.  She  saw  who 
were  immediately  beside  her ;  and  there  was  some- 
thing of  a  smile  of  joy,  as  she  beheld  the  two,  so  closely 
associated,  whom,  of  all  the  world,  she  desired  to  see 
even  more  immediately  linked  together.  Katharine 
understood  the  glance,  and  rising  from  her  kneeling 
position,  extricated  her  hand,  which  lay  partly  under 
that  of  Robert,  on  the  back  of  the  sofa.  The  move- 
ment recalled  the  thoughts  of  Emily  from  the  new  di- 
rection which  they  had  taken,  and  she  now  recurred 
to  the  unfinished  topic. 

"  I  will  trust  your  assurance,  brother,  as  I  know  your 
gentleness  of  feeling.  May  you  not  escape  this  bloody 
employment  ?  for  my  poor  thought  fails  to  perceive 
the  good  or  the  glory  which  can  come  of  the  distresses 
of  humanity." 

"  It  would  be  shame,  Emily,  deep  shame  and  dis- 
honour, to  avoid  it  ;  and,  indeed,  it  may  not  be  avoided. 
The  pei'secutor  pursues  when  you  fly,  and  he  tramples 
even  more  freely  when  you  resist  not.  It  is  in  the 
nature  of  injustice  and  wrong,  to  grow  insolent  with 
impunity;  and  the  dishonour  must  rest  on  him,  who, 
being  himself  strong,  looks  unmoved  on  the  sufferings 
of  the  weak,  and  withholds  his  succour.  Believe  me, 
dear  Emily,  I  love  not  this  strife  ;  but  defence  of  our 
country  is  war  under  God's  own  sanction,  since  it 
seeks  to  maintain  free  from  blood  and  from  injustice 
the  home  which  he  has  given  to  the  peaceful." 


THE    PARTISAN.  163 

"  It  is  painful,  very  painful,  to  think  so ;  yet  so  it 
must  be,  if  you  have  said  it.  God  prosper  you  in  your 
cause,  Robert,  and  his  eye  be  upon  you  !" 

He  could  only  reply  by  earnestly  pressing  his  lips 
upon  her  cold  forehead,  as  with  painful  eyes  he  watched 
her  progress  to  her  chamber,  supported  by  the  arms 
of  his  lovely  cousin. 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

*'  I  may  not  listen  now.    How  should  we  hear 
The  song  of  birds,  when,  in  the  stormy  sky, 
Rolls  the  rude  thunder  ?" 

The  ladies  had  retired,  but  it  was  not  easy  for 
Singleton  and  his  imcle  to  resume  the  topic  which 
had  previously  engaged  them.  There  was  a  visible 
damp  upon  their  spirits — the  elastic  nephew,  the  hesi- 
tating colonel,  the  rough,  honest,  and  direct  Humpliries, 
all  felt  the  passionate  force  of  Emily's  exhortation, 
though  its  argument  necessarily  failed  upon  them. 
There  had  been  quite  too  much  that  was  awing  in  her 
speech  and  manner — as  if  death  were  speaking  tiirough 
the  lips  of  life.  Their  thoughts  had  been  elevated  by 
her  language  to  a  theme  infinitely  beyond  the  hourly 
and  the  earthly.  The  high-souled  emphasis  with 
which  she  had  insisted  upon  the  integrity  of  human 
life,  as  essential  to  the  due  preparation  for  the  future 
immortality,  had  touched  the  sensibility  of  those 
whose  vocation  was  at  hostility  with  the  doctrine 
which  she  taught ;  and  though,  from  the  very  nature 
of  things,  they  could  not  obey  her  exhortations,  they 
yet  could  not  fail  to  meditate  upon,  and  to  feel  them. 
Thus  impressed,  silent  and  unobserving,  it  was  a  relief 
to  all,  when  Major  Singleton  reminded  Humphries  of 
the  promise  which  he  had  presumed  to  make  him, 
touching  the  old  Madeira  in  his  uncle's  garret.  He 
briefly  told  the  latter  of  the  circumstance  alluded  to, 


164  THE    PARTISAN. 

and  the  prompt  orders  of  Colonel  Walton  soon  brought 
the  excellence  of  his  wines  to  the  impartial  test  to 
which  Humphries  proposed  to  subject  them.  The 
lieutenant  smacked  his  lips  satisfactorily.  It  was  not 
often  that  his  fortune  had  indulged  him  with  such  a 
beverage.  Corn  whiskey,  at  best,  had  been  his  liquor 
in  the  swamps  ;  and,  even  in  his  father's  tavern,  the 
tastes  were  not  sufficiently  high,  of  those  who  patron- 
ised that  establishment,  to  call  for  other  than  the 
cheapest  qualities.  A  brief  dialogue  about  the  favourite 
wines — a  sly  reference  on  the  part  of  Singleton,  to  the 
drinking"  capacities  of  his  British  guests,  and  a  hypo- 
critical sort  of  condolence  upon  the  privations  to 
which  his  uncle  must  be  subjected,  in  conseq^uence  of 
the  proclamation,  soon  brought  the  latter  back  to  the 
legitimate  topic. 

"  But  what  news,  Robert,  do  you  bring  us  ?  What 
of  the  continentals — is  it  true  that  we  are  to  have  an 
army  from  Virginia,  or  is  it  mere  rumour  ? — a  thing  to 
give  us  hope,  only  the  more  completely  to  depress  and 
mortify  ?  Speak  out,  man,  and  none  of  your  inuendoes 
— you  know,  well  enough,  that  I  am  with  you,  body 
and  soul." 

"  I  believe  you  will  be,  uncle,  but  you  certainly  are 
not  yet.  With  the  hope,  however,  to  make  you  so 
more  completely,  I  will  give  you  news  that  shall  cheer 
you  up,  if  you  have  the  heart  to  hope  for  a  favourable 
change  of  things.  It  is  no  mere  rumour,  sir,  touching 
the  northern  army.  Congress  has  remembered  us  at 
last,  and  the  continentals  are  actually  under  way,  and 
by  this  time  must  be  on  the  borders  of  North  Caro- 
lina." 

"  Indeed  !  that  is  well,"  cried  the  colonel,  chuckling, 
and  rubbing  his  hands — "  this  is  good  news,  indeed, 
my  nephew,  and  may  help  us  somewhat  out  of  our 
difficulties." 

"  Not  so.  Colonel  Walton,  if  it  please  you.  It 
will  help  you  out  of  no  difficulties,  if  you  are  not 
wiUing  to  lend  a  hand  for  that  purpose.    Congress 


THE    PARTISAN.  165 

cannot  afford  an  army — it  can  only  give  us  the  nucleus 
for  one  ;  some  fifteen  hundred  men  at  the  utmost,  and 
but  half  of  these  continentals.  We  have  the  Delaware 
and  Maryland  lines — brave  troops,  indeed — among  the 
very  bravest  that  Washington  commands — but  few, 
too  few  for  our  purposes,  unless  we  ourselves  turn 
out." 

"  Who  commands  them,  Robert  ?" 

"  De  Kalb  on  the  march  ;  but,  if  we  need  men,  and 
if  our  arms  are  few,  the  name  of  our  commander  is  a 
host  for  us.  The  conqueror  of  Burgoyne  at  Saratoga 
has  been  ordered  from  Virginia  to  lead  them." 

"  What,  Gates  !  that  is  brave  news,  truly — brave 
news — and  we  shall  do  well  to  wish  them  success  in 
another  glass  of  Madeira.  Come,  Mr.  Humphries — 
come,  sir — you  see  Proctor  has  left  us  some  of  the 
genuine  stuff  yet — enough  for  friends,  at  least." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Humphries,  drinking,  "  and  this 
news  of  the  continentals  promises  that  we  have  enough 
also  for  our  enemies." 

"  Bravo  !  I  hope  so ;  I  think  go.  Nephew,  drink, 
drink — and  say,  what  has  been  the  effect  of  this  intel- 
ligence upon  the  people  1  How  has  it  wrought  upon 
the  Santee  ?" 

"  Everywhere  well,  uncle,  and  as  it  should,  unless 
it  be  immediately  in  your  neighbourhood,  where  you 
breathe  by  sufferance  only.  Everywhere  well,  sir. 
The  people  are  roused,  inspirited,  full  of  hope  and 
animation.  The  country  is  alive  with  a  new  senti- 
ment. Nor  is  its  influence  confined  only  to  the  hopes  of 
friends  ;  it  has  had  its  effect  upon  the  fears  of  enemies. 
Rawdon  already  feels  it,  and  has  drawn  in  all  his  out- 
posts. He  keeps  now  those  of  Ninety  Six,  Camden, 
and  Augusta  only.  He  is  concentrating  his  force 
against  the  coming  of  Gates,  whose  first  blow  must  be 
against  his  lordship.  This  concentration  has  given 
opportunity  to  our  people,  and  opportunity  gives  them 
courage.  The  Santee  and  the  Peedee  countries  are 
full    of   whigs,  only   wanting   imbodiment  to   prove 


166  THE    PARTISAN. 

effective.  Colonel  Sumter  has  returned  from  North 
Carolina,  with  a  growing  troop  which  threatens  Ninety 
Six  itself." 

"And  Marion?" 

"Ay,  Marion — from  him  I  bring  you  better  news 
yet,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  left  him  on  Britton's  Neck, 
where  we  stood  upon  the  bodies  of  half  of  Gainey's 
tories,  whom  we  had  just  defeated  with  bloody  slaugh- 
ter. Gainey  himself  wounded,  and  his  troop  for  the 
time  dispersed." 

"  Better  and  better,  Robert ;  and  I  rejoice  me  that 
you  had  a  hand  in  the  business.  But  what,  in  all  this 
time,  of  that  sanguinary  rider,  Tarleton  1  What  keeps 
him  quiet — what  is  he  doing  1  Surely,  with  a  taste  like 
his,  the  very  knowledge  of  these  risings  should  be 
grateful." 

"  Doubtless  they  will  be,  when  he  gets  wind  of 
them ;  but  he  is  now  with  the  cavalry  of  the  legion, 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Rocky  Mount, 
where  Sumter  is  said  to  be  looking  after  him.  Thus, 
you  see,  we  are  all  engaged  or  preparing — all  but  you, 
of  the  parishes.  You  either  hug  the  knees  of  your 
invaders,  or  sleep  on,  to  avoid  the  sense  of  shame  : 
all  but  your  Washington,  who,  I  am  told,  still  con- 
trives to  keep  his  horse  together,  though  sadly  cut  up 
while  under  White  and  Baylor." 

"  True,  true, — our  people  here  are  but  too  much 
disposed  to  submission.  They  have  given  up  in 
despair  long  since." 

"  I  reckon  that's  a  small  mistake,  colonel — I  beg 
pardon,  sir,  but  I  rather  think  it's  not  exactly  as  you 
say.  I  don't  think  our  people  any  more  willing  to 
submit,  than  the  people  on  Black  River  and  Pedee, 
but  it's  all  because  we  han't  got  leaders ;  that's  the 
reason,  colonel.  I  know  of  my  own  knowledge  there's 
any  number  will  turn  out,  if  you'll  only  crook  a  finger, 
and  show  'em  the  track,  but  it's  not  reasonable  to 
expect  poor  men,  who  have  never  ruled  before,  to  take 
the  lead  of  great  people  in  time  of  danger." 

Humphries  spoke  up,  and  spoke  justly  for  the  Hon- 


THE    PARTISAN.  167 

our  of  his  neighbours.  Singleton  continued,  when 
his  lieutenant  concluded — 

"  He  speaks  truly,  Colonel  Walton,  as  I  can  testify. 
What  if  I  tell  you  that  your  people — here,  under  your 
own  eye — are  not  only  ready  to  take  up  arms,  but  that 
many  of  thera  are  in  arras — more,  sir — that  they  have 
already  done  service  in  your  own  neighbourhood,  and 
are  ready  to  do  more — that  a  promising  squad,  under 
my  command,  now  lies  on  the  Stonoe-savamiah  and 
that,  in  a  few  days,  I  hope  to  join  Colonel  Marion  with 
a  troop  of  fifty  men  gathered  from  among  your  own 
parishioners  !  These  are  the  people  who  are  so  will- 
ing to  submit,  according  to  your  account ;  pray  you, 
uncle,  never  write  their  history." 

"  Robert,  you  surprise  me." 

"Pleasantly,  I  hope,  mine  uncle — it  is  the  truth. 
The  whole  was  planned  by  Colonel  Marion,  from 
whom  I  have  this  duty  in  charge.  Disguised,  he  has 
been  through  your  parish.  Disguised,  he  sat  at  your 
board,  in  the  character  of  a  tory  commissary,  and 
your  scornful  treatment  persuaded  him  to  hope  that 
you  might  be  brought  into  action.  Are  you  staggered 
now  ?" 

The  colonel  was  dumb  when  he  heard  this  narrative  ; 
and  Major  Singleton  then  proceeded  to  give  a  brief 
account  of  the  little  events  of  recent  occurrence  in 
the  neighbourhood,  as  we  have  already  narrated  them, 
subsequently  to  his  assumption  of  command  in  the 
Cypress  Swamp.  The  story,  though  it  gave  him 
pleasure,  was  a  sad  rebuke  to  Colonel  Walton's  patriot- 
ism.    He  scarcely  heard  him  to  the  end. 

"  Now,  Heaven  help  me,  Robert,  but  I  take  shame  to 
myself,  that  you,  almost  a  stranger  upon  the  Ashley, 
should  have  thus  taken  the  lead  out  of  ray  own  hand, 
as  I  may  say,  and  among  my  own  people." 

"  It  is  not  too  late,  uncle,  to  amend  the  error.  You 
may  yet  help  greatly  to  finish  what  has  been  tolerably 
well  begun." 

"  No — it  is  not  too  late.  I  can  do  much  with  Dor- 
chester and  Goose  Creek.    I  have  influence  throughout 


168  THE    PARTISAN. 

St.  Paul's,  and  great  part  of  St  George's.  Cane 
Acre  will  come  out,  to  a  man." 

Rapidly  moving  to  and  fro  along  the  apartment, 
Colonel  Walton  enumerated  to  himself,  in  under  tones, 
the  various  sections  of  country  in  his  knowledge 
which  he  thought  might  be  moved  at  his  instigation. 
His  nephew  did  not  suffer  the  mood  of  his  uncle  to 
relax. 

"  Now  is  the  time,  uncle — now  is  the  time,  if  ever. 
Your  name  will  do  every  thing  in  this  quarter ;  and 
you  may  conjecture  for  yourself,  what  the  shame  must 
be,  if  others  achieve  the  work  which  you  touched  not. 
You  have  now  a  glorious  opportunity  at  this  season, 
Tarleton,  whom  they  so  much  dread,  being  absent, 
Wemyss  in  another  direction,  and  your  garrison  so 
weak  at  Dorchester  that  they  cannot  easily  spare  a 
detachment.  Besides,  the  approach  of  Gates  promises 
sufficient  employ  to  all  the  I'orce  which  Ravvdon  and 
Cornwallis  can  bring  up." 

"  The  thing  looks  well,"  said  Walton,  musingly. 

"  Never  better,  if  the  heart  be  firm.  Now  is  the 
time  if  ever — beat  up  recruits — sound,  stimulate  your 
neighbours,  and  dash  up  with  as  smart  a  force  as  you 
can  possibly  muster  to  join  with  the  army  from  Virginia. 
They  will  receive  you  joyfully,  and  your  corps  must 
increase  with  every  mile  in  your  progress." 

"  Would  I  were  on  the  way  ;  but  the  beginning  is 
yet  to  be  made,  and  on  what  plea  shall  I  seek  to  per- 
suade others,  without  authority,  and  known  as  one 
having  taken  a  protection  ?" 

"  That  latter  difficulty  is  cured  by  the  assumption  of 
a  newr  character.  Destroy  the  one  accursed  instrument, 
and,  in  its  place,  I  am  proud  to  hand  you  a  badge  of 
honour  and  of  confidence.  Look  on  this  paper  and 
peruse  this  letter.  The  one  is  from  his  excellency. 
Governor  Rutledge — the  other  from  Colonel  Marion. 
Read — read !" 

1  Walton  unfolded  the  envelope,  and  the  commission 
of  Governor  Rutledge  as  colonel  of  state  militia  met 
his  eye  :  the  letter  from  Colonel  Marion  was  an  invita- 


THE    PARTISAN.  169 

tion  to  the  service — a  brief,  manly,  modest  letter ; 
such  as  could  only  come  from  Marion — so  calm,  so 
unassuming,  yet  so  conclusive  in  its  exhortations. 

"  You  see,  uncle,"  said  the  major,  when  he  saw 
that  the  other  had  concluded  the  perusal  of  the  docu- 
ments— "  you  see,  I  come  not  unprovided.  Both 
Rutledge  and  Marion  hold  your  name  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  our  cause  to  desire  its  influence  ;  and  they 
would  have  you,  on  any  terms,  emancipate  yourself 
from  the  villanous  bondage — for  it  is  no  less — into 
which  you  have  fallen.  Here,  now,  you  have  an  op- 
portunity, by  an  honourable,  and,  let  me  add,  an  atoning 
transaction,  of  returning  to  the  service  of  your  country. 
Do  not  let  it  pass  you.  Let  me  not  think,  my  dear 
uncle,  that  my  word,  pledged  for  you  to  Marion,  when 
I  undertook  and  craved  this  commission,  was  pledged 
in  vain,  and  is  now  forfeited." 

This  warm  appeal  of  Singleton,  in  the  utterance 
of  which  he  had  discarded  all  that  asperity  which 
had  kept  pace  with  much  of  his  share  in  the  previous 
dialogue,  was  soothing  to  his  uncle's  spirit.  He  was 
moved ;  and  slowly  again,  though  unconsciously,  he 
read  over  the  letter  of  Marion.  So  high  a  compliment 
from  the  gallant  partisan  was  flattering  in  the  extreme  ; 
and  the  trust  of  Governor  Rutledge,  under  his  late 
smitings  of  conscience,  was  healing  and  grateful. 
For  a  few  moments  he  spoke  not ;  but  at  length  ap- 
proaching his  nephew,  he  seized  his  hand,  and  at 
once  avowed  the  pleasure  it  gave  him,  to  avail  himself 
of  the  privileges  which  the  commission  conferred  upon 
him. 

"  I  will  be  no  longer  wanting  to  my  country,  Robert. 
I  will  do  my  duty.  This  paper  gives  me  power  to 
enrol  men,  to  form  troops,  and  to  act  against  the 
enemy,  and  find  my  sanction  in  the  commission  of  the 
executive.  I  will  do  so.  I  will  pause  no  longer,  and, 
spite  of  the  sacrifice,  will  act  as  it  requires." 

The  countenance  of  Major  Singleton,  and  that  of 
Humphries,  no  less,  glowed  with  an  honest  pleasure, 
as  the  former  replied— 

Vol.  I.— P 


170  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Spoken  as  it  should  be,  Colonel  Walton — spoken 
as  it  should  be.  The  decision  comes  late,  but  not  too 
late.  It  is  redeeming,  and  God  grant  that  it  be  as 
prosperous  to  all  as  it  is  surely  proper  and  praise- 
worthy." 

"  So  I  believe  it,  or  I  would  not  now  adopt  it :  but, 
Robert,  know  you  not  that  such  a  decision  makes  me 
a  beggar  ?    Sequestration — " 

"  Now,  out  upon  it,  uncle  !  why  will  you  still  ballast 
your  good  works  with  a  weight  which  shall  for  ever 
keep  them  from  heaven's  sight  ?  You  are  no  niggard 
— you  live  profusely — care  not  for  money  :  wherefore 
this  reference  to  wealth  in  comparison  with  honour  and 
honourable  duty?" 

"  The  wealth  is  nothing,  Robert ;  but  I  have  a 
strange  love  for  these  old  groves — this  family  mansion, 
descended  to  me  like  a  sacred  trust  through  so  many 
hands  and  ancestors.  I  would  not  that  they  should  be 
lost." 

The  youth  looked  sternly  at  the  speaker  for  a 
few  moments  in  silence,  but  the  fierce  emotion  at 
length  found  its  way  to  his  lips  in  tones  of  like  indig- 
nation with  that  which  sparkled  from  his  eyes. 

"  Now,  by  heaven,  uncle,  had  I  known  of  this — had 
I  dreamed  that  thou  hadst  weighed,  for  an  instant,  the 
fine  sense  of  honour  in  the  scales  against  thy  love  of  this 
thy  dwelling-place — my  own  hand  should  have  applied 
the  torch  to  its  shingles.  Dearly  as  I  have  loved  this 
old  mansion,  I  myself  would  have  freely  kindled  the 
flame  which  should  have  burned  it  to  the  ground.  I 
would  have  watched  the  fire  as  it  swept  through  these 
old  trees,  scathing  and  scattering  the  branches  under 
which  I  had  a  thousand  times  played — I  would  have 
beheld  their  ruin  with  a  pleasurable  emotion  ;  and  as 
they  fell  successively  to  the  earth  which  they  once  shel- 
tered, I  would  have  shouted  in  triumph,  that  I  saved  you 
from  the  dishonourable  bargain  which  you  have  made 
for  their  protection  so  long." 

"  But  Kate — Kate,  Robert ;  my  sweet  child — my 
only  child  !" 


THE    PARTISAN.  171 

It  was  all  the  father  said,  but  it  was  enough,  if  not 
to  convince,  at  least  to  silence,  the  indignant  speaker. 
Her  good  was,  indeed,  a  consideration ;  and  when 
Singleton  reflected  upon  the  tender  care  which  had 
kept  her  from  privation  and  sorrow  all  her  life  hitherto, 
he  could  not  help  feeling  how  natural  was  such  a  con- 
sideration to  the  mind  of  such  a  father. 

But  the  emotion  had  subsided — the  more  visible 
portions  of  it,  at  least ;  and  Colonel  Walton,  his 
nephew  and  Humphries,  engaged  in  various  conver- 
sation, chiefly  devoted  to  the  labours  that  lay  before 
them.  Having  gained  his  object,  however,  Major 
Singleton  was  in  no  mood  to  remain  much  longer. 
His  duties  were  various  ;  his  little  squad  required  his 
attention,  as  he  well  knew  how  little  subordination 
could  be  had  from  raw  militiamen,  unless  in  the  con- 
tinued and  controlling  presence  of  their  commander. 
The  hour  was  growing  late,  and  some  portion  of  his 
time  was  due  to  his  sister  and  the  ladies,  who  awaited 
his  coming  in  the  snug  back  or  family  parlour,  into 
which  none  but  the  select  few  ever  found  admission. 

Leaving  Humphries  in  the  charge  of  Colonel  Walton, 
our  hero  approached  the  quiet  sanctuary  with  peculiar 
emotions.  There  was  a  soft  melancholy  pervading 
the  little  circle.  The  moral  influence  of  such  a  con- 
dition as  that  of  Emily  Singleton  was  touchingly  felt 
by  all  around  her.  The  high-spirited,  the  proud 
Katharine  Walton  greAV  meek  and  humble,  when  she 
gazed  upon  the  sufferer,  dying  by  a  protracted  and  a 
painful  death,  in  the  midst  of  youth,  rich  in  beauty, 
and  with  a  superiority  of  mind  which  might  well 
awaken  admiration  in  the  other,  and  envy  in  her  own 
sex.  Yet  she  was  dying  with  the  mind  alive,  but  un- 
exercised ;  a  heart  warm  with  a  true  aflfection,  yet 
utterly  unappropriated  ;  sensibilities  touching  and 
charming,  which  had  only  lived,  that  memory  might 
mourn  the  more  over  those  sweets  of  character  so  well 
known  to  enjoyment,  yet  so  little  enjoying.  It  was  a 
thought  to  make  the  proud  heart  humble ;  and  Kate 
looked  upon  her  cousin  with  tearful  eyes.     She  sat 


172  THE    PARTISAN. 

at  her  feet,  saying  no  word,  while  the  brother  of  the 
dying  girl,  taking  a  place  beside  her,  lifted  her  head 
upon  his  bosom,  where  she  seemed  pleased  that  ii 
should  lie,  while' he  pressed  his  lips  fondly  and  fre- 
quently to  her  forehead.  In  murmured  tones,  unheard 
by  the  rest,  she  carried  on  with  him  a  little  dialogue, 
half  playful,  half  tender,  in  which  she  pressed  him  on 
the  subject  of  his  love  for  her  cousin.  The  mention 
of  Kate's  name,  a  little  louder  than  she  usually  spoke, 
called  for  the  latter's  attention,  who  looked  up,  and  a 
suffusion  of  her  cheek  seemed  to  show  a  something  of 
consciousness  in  her  mind  of  what  had  been  the  sub- 
ject between  them.  The  eye  of  Emily  caught  the 
glance,  and  a  smile  of  archness  played  over  her  lips 
for  an  instant,  but  soon  made  way  for  that  earnest 
and  settled  melancholy  of  look  which  was  now  its 
habitual  expression.  They  continued  to  converse 
together,  the  others  only  now  and  then  mingling  in  the 
dialogue,  on  those  various  little  matters  belonging  to 
her  old  home  and  its  associates,  which  a  young  and 
gentle  nature  like  hers  would  be  apt  to  remember. 
Sometimes,  so  feeble  was  her  utterance  that  Robert 
was  compelled  to  place  his  ear  to  her  lips  the  better  to 
take  in  what  she  said.  It  was  at  one  of  these  moments 
that  a  severe  clap  of  thunder  recalled  the  major  to  a 
sense  of  his  duties.  The  sudden  concussion  startled 
the  nervous  maiden,  and  Kate  came  to  her  assistance, 
so  that  his  hand  was  brought  once  more  in  contact  with 
that  of  the  woman  he  loved,  in  the  performance  of  an 
office  almost  too  sacredly  stern  to  permit  of  the  show  of 
that  other  emotion  which  he  yet  felt — how  strangely  ! — 
in  his  bosom.  The  blood  tingled  and  glowed  in  his 
veins,  and  she,  too — she  withdrew  her  fingers  the 
moment  her  service  could  well  be  dispensed  with. 
Another  roll  of  the  thunder,  and  a  message  from 
Humphries  warned  him  of  the  necessity  of  tearing 
himself  from  a  scene  only  too  painfully  fascinating. 
He  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  his  aunt,  and  pressing 
the  lips  of  his  sister  fondly,  her  last  words  to  him 
were  comprised  in  a  whisper — 


THE    PARTISAN.  173 

"  Spare  life — save  life,  Robert :  God  bless  you  !  and 
come  back  to  me  soon." 

Kate  encountered  him  in  the  passage-way.  Her 
look  was  something  troubled,  and  her  visible  emotion 
might  have  been  grateful  to  the  vanity  of  our  hero, 
did  he  not  see  how  unusually  covered  with  gloom  were 
the  features  of  her  face. 

"Dear  Kate — sweet  cousin — I  must  leave  you 
now." 

"  I  know  it,  Robert — I  know  more  :  you  have  per- 
suaded my  father  to  break  his  protection." 

"  I  have  done  my  best  towards  it,  Kate  ;  but  if  he 
has  resolved,  the  impulse  was-  as  much  his  own  as 
from  me.  He  could  not  well  have  avoided  it  in  the 
end,  situated  as  he  was." 

"  Perhaps  not,  Robert ;  still,  your  persuasions  have 
been  the  most  immediately  urgent ;  and  though  I  dread 
the  result,  I  cannot  well  blame  you  for  what  you  have 
done.  I  now  wish  to  know  from  you,  what  are  the 
chances  in  favour  of  his  successful  action.  1  would 
at  least  console  myself  by  their  recapitulation  when 
he  is  absent,  and  perhaps  in  danger." 

Major  Singleton  gave  a  promising  account  of  the 
prospects  before  them  ;  such,  indeed,  as  they  appeared 
at  that  time  to  the  sanguine  Americans,  and  needing  but 
little  exaggeration.  She  seemed  satisfied,  and  he  then 
proceeded  to  entreat  her  upon  a  subject  purely  selfish. 

"  Speak  not  now — not  now  on  such  a  matter.  Have 
we  not  enough,  Robert,  to  trouble  us  ?  Danger  and 
death,  grief  and  many  apprehensions  hang  over  us, 
and  will  not  suffer  such  idle  thoughts,"  was  the  reply. 

"  These  are  no  idle  thoughts,  Kate,  since  they 
belong  so  closely  to  our  happiness.  Say  to  me,  then, 
only  say  that  you  love  me." 

"  I  love  you,  indeed — to  be  sure  I  do,  as  a  cousin 
and  as  a  friend ;  but  really  you  ask  too  much  when 
you  crave  for  more.  I  have  no  time,  no  feeling,  for 
love  in  these  moments." 

"  Nay,  be  serious,  Kate,  and  say.  We  know  not 
P2 


174  THE    PARTISAN. 

how  soon  our  situation  may  change.  I  am  hourly 
exposed  in  a  hazardous  service — I  may  perish  ;  and  I 
would,  before  such  an  event,  be  secure  in  the  hope 
that  I  may  look  to  you  for  that  love  which  would  make 
me  happy  when  living,  or — " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  cool,  sarcastic  speech,  con- 
cluding the  sentence  for  him  in  a  manner  most  annoy- 
ing— 

"  Drop  a  tear  for  me  when  I  am  dead." 

She  saw  that  he  looked  displeased,  and  immediately 
after,  with  an  art  peculiarly  her  own,  she  diverted  his 
anger. 

"  Nay,  dear  cousin,  forgive  me  ;  but  you  looked  the 
conclusion,  and  so  pathetically,  I  thought  it  not  improb- 
able that  its  utterance  would  find  you  speechless. 
Be  not  so  tragic,  I  pray  you  ;  1  am  serious  enough  as  it 
is — soberly  serious,  not  tragically  so.  Be  reasonable 
for  a  while,  and  reflect  that  these  very  vicissitudes  of 
your  present  mode  of  life,  should  discourage  you  from 
pressing  this  matter.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  love 
you  or  not,  except  as  a  relation.  It  requires  time  to 
make  up  one's  mind  on  the  subject,  and  trust  me  I  shall 
think  of  it  in  season.  But,  just  now,  I  cannot — and 
hear  me,  Robert,  firmly  and  honestly  I  tell  you,  while 
these  difficulties  last,  while  my  father's  life  is  in  dan- 
ger, and  while  your  sister  lies  in  my  arms  helpless 
and  dying,  I  not  only  cannot,  but  will  not,  answer 
you.  Forbear  the  subject,  then,  I  pray  you,  for  a  better 
season ;  and  remember,  when  I  speak  to  you  thus,  I 
speak  to  you  as  a  woman,  with  some  pretensions  to 
good  sense,  who  will  try  to  think  upon  her  affections 
as  calmly  as  upon  the  most  simple  and  domestic 
necessity  of  her  life.  Be  satisfied  then  that  you  will 
have  justice." 

Another  summons  from  Humphries  below,  and  a 
sudden  rush  of  wind  along  the  casement,  warned  him 
of  the  necessity  of  concluding  the  interview.  He  had 
barely  time  to  press  her  hand  to  his  lips  when  she 
hurried  him  down  to  her  father.     A  few  brief  words  at 


THE    PARTISAN.  175 

parting,  a  solemn  renewal  of  their  pledges,  and,  in 
a  few  moments,  the  two  partisans  were  on  horse, 
speeding  down  the  long  avenue  on  the  way  to  their 
encampment. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

*'  'Tis  a  wild  night,  yet  there  are  those  abroad, 
The  storm  oflfends  not.     'Tis  but  oppression  hides, 
While  fear,  the  scourge  of  conscience,  lifts  a  whip, 
Beyond  his  best  capacity  to  fly." 

The  evening,  which  had  been  beautiful  before,  had 
undergone  a  change.  The  moon  was  obscured,  and 
gigantic  shadows,  dense  and  winged,  hurried  with  deep- 
toned  cries  along  the  heavens,  as  if  in  angry  pursuit. 
Occasionally,  in  sudden  gusts,  the  winds  moaned 
heavily  among  the  pines ;  a  cooling  freshness  impreg- 
nated the  atmosphere,  and  repeated  flashes  of  sharpest 
lightning  imparted  to  the  prospect  a  splendour  which 
illuminated,  while  increasing  the  perils  of  that  path 
which  our  adventurers  were  now  pursuing.  Large 
drops,  at  moments,  fell  from  the  driving  clouds,  and 
every  thing  promised  the  coming  on  of  one  of  those 
sudden  and  severe  thunder-storms,  so  common  to  the 
early  summer  of  the  South. 

Singleton  looked  up  anxiously  at  the  wild  confusion 
of  sky  and  forest  around  him.  The  woods  seemed  to 
apprehend  the  danger,  and  the  melancholy  sighing  of 
their  branches  a])peared  to  indicate  an  instinct  con- 
sciousness, which  had  its  moral  likeness  to  the  feeling 
in  the  bosom  of  the  observer.  How  many  of  these 
mighty  pines  were  to  be  prostrated  under  that  approach- 
ing tempest !  how  many  beautiful  vines,  which  had 
clung  to  them  like  affections  that  only  desire  an 
object  to  fasten  upon,  would  share  in  their  ruin  !  How 
could  Singleton  overlook  the  analogy  between  the  for- 


176  THE    PARTISAN. 

tune  of  his  family  and  friends,  and  that  which  his 
imagination  depicted  as  the  probable  fortune  of  the 
forest? 

"  We  shall  have  it  before  long,  Humphries,  for  you 
see  the  black  horns  yonder  in  the  break  before  us.  I 
begin  to  feel  the  warm  breath  of  the  hurricane  already, 
and  we  must  look  out  for  some  smaller  woods.  I  like 
not  these  high  pines  in  a  storm  like  this,  so  use 
your  memory,  man,  and  lead  on  to  some  less  likely  to 
attract  the  lightning.  Ha  ! — we  must  speed — we  have 
lingered  too  long.  Why  did  you  not  hurry  me?  you 
should  have  known  how  difficult  it  was  for  me  to  hurry 
myself  in  such  a  situation." 

This  was  spoken  by  Singleton  at  moments  when  the 
gusts  permitted  him  to  be  heard,  and  when  the  irregu- 
lar route  siiflered  his  companion  to  keep  beside  him. 
The  lieutenant  answered  promptly — 

"  That  was  the  very  reason  why  I  did  not  wish  to 
hurry  you,  major.  I  knew  you  hadn't  seen  your 
folks  for  a  mighty  long  spell,  and  so  I  couldn't  find  it 
in  my  heart  to  break  in  upon  you,  though  I  felt  dubi- 
ous that  the  storm  would  be  soon  upon  us." 

"A  bad  reason  for  a  soldier.  Friends  and  family  are 
scarcely  desirable  at  such  a  time  as  this,  since  we  can 
seldom  see  them,  or  only  see  their  suffering.  Ha ! — 
that  was  sharp  !" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  at  some  distance.  We  are  among 
the  stunted  oaks  now,  which  are  rather  squat,  and  not 
so  likely  to  give  as  the  pines.  There  aint  so  much  of 
'em,  you  see.  Keep  a  look  out,  sir,  or  the  branches 
will  pull  you  from  your  horse.  The  road  here  is 
pretty  much  overgrown,  and  the  vines  crowd  thick 
upon  it." 

"A  word  in  season,"  exclaimed  Singleton,  as  he 
drew  back  before  an  overhanging  branch  which  had 
been  bent  by  the  wind,  and  was  thrust  entirely  across 
his  path.  A  few  moments  were  spent  in  rounding  the 
obstruction,  and  the  storm  grew  heavier ;  the  winds  no 
longer  laboured  among  the  trees,  but  rushed  along  with 
a  force  Mdiich  flattened  their  elastic  tops,  so  that  it 


THE    PARTISAN.  177 

either  swept  clear  through  them,  or  laid  them  prostrate 
for  ever.  A  stronger  hold,  a  positive  straining  in  their 
effort,  became  necessary  now,  with  both  riders,  in  order 
to  secure  themselves  firmly  in  their  saddles ;  while 
their  horses,  with  uplifted  ears,  and  an  occasional  snort, 
in  this  manner,  not  less  than  by  a  shiver  of  their  whole 
frames,  betrayed  their  own  apprehensions,  and,  as  it 
were,  appealed  to  their  masters  for  protection. 

"  The  dumb  beast  knows  where  to  look,  after  all, 
major :  he  knows  that  man  is  most  able,  you  see,  to 
take  care  of  him,  though  man  wants  his  keeper  too. 
But  the  beast  don't  know  that.  He's  like  the  good 
soldier  that  minds  his  own  captain,  and  looks  to  him 
only,  though  the  captain  himself  has  a  general  from 
whom  he  gets  his  orders.  Now,  say  what  you  will, 
major,  there's  reason  in  the  horse — the  good  horse,  I 
mean,  for  some  horses  that  I've  straddled  in  my  time 
have  shown  themselves  mighty  foolish  and  unrea- 
sonable." 

Humphries  stroked  the  neck  of  his  steed  fondly, 
and  coaxed  him  by  an  affectionate  word,  as  he  uttered 
himself  thus  generally,  though  perhaps  with  little  phi- 
losophy. He  seemed  desirous  of  assuring  the  steed 
that  he  held  him  of  the  better  class,  and  favoured  him 
accordingly.  Singleton  assented  to  the  notion  of  his 
companion,  who  did  not,  however,  see  the  smile  which 
accompanied  his  answer. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Humphries,  the  horse  knows  his  master, 
and  is  the  least  able  or  willing  of  all  animals  to  do 
without  him.  I  would  we  had  ours  in  safety  now :  I 
would  these  five  miles  were  well  over." 

"  It's  a  tough  ride ;  but  that's  so  much  the  better, 
major — the  less  apt  we  are  to  be  troubled  with  the 
tories." 

"  I  should  rather  plunge  through  a  crowd  of  them, 
now,  in  a  charge  agahist  superior  cavalry,  than  take  it 
in  such  a  night  as  this,  when  the  wind  lifts  you,  at 
every  bound,  half  out  of  your  saddle,  and,  but  for  the 
lightning,  which  comes  quite  too  nigh  to  be  at  all  times 
pleasant,  your  face  would  make  momentary  acquaint- 


178  THE    PARTISAN. 

ance  with  boughs  and  branches,  vines  and  thorns, 
that  give  no  notice  and  leave  their  mark  at  every  brush. 
A  charge  were  far  less  difficult." 

"  Almost  as  safe,  sir,  that's  certain,  and  not  more 
unpleasant.  But  let  us  hold  up,  ]\Iajor,  for  a  while, 
and  push  for  the  thicket.  We  shall  now  have  the 
Avorst  of  the  hurricane.  See  the  edge  of  it  yonder — 
how  black  !  and  now — only  hear  the  roaring  !" 

"  Yes,  it  comes.  I  feel  it  on  my  cheek.  It  sends 
a  breath  like  fire  before  it,  sultry  and  thick,  as  if  it 
had  been  sweeping  all  day  over  beds  of  the  hottest 
sand.     Lead  the  way,  Humphries." 

"  Here,  sir, — follow  close  and  quick.  There's  a 
clump  of  forest,  with  nothing  but  small  trees,  lying  to 
the  left — now,  sir,  that  flash  will  show  it  to  you — 
there  we  can  be  snug  till  the  storm  passes  over.  It 
has  a  long  body  and  it  shakes  it  mightily,  but  it  goes 
too  fast  to  stay  long  in  its  journey,  and  a  few  minutes, 
sir — a  few  minutes  is  all  we  want.  Wind  the  vine  there, 
sir ;  and  there,  to  your  left,  is  a  gully,  where  an  old 
tree's  roots  have  come  up.  Now,  major,  the  sooner 
we  dismount  and  squat  with  our  horses  the  better." 

They  had  now  reached  the  spot  to  which  Hum- 
phries had  pointed — a  thick  undergrowth  of  small  tim- 
ber— of  pine,  the  stunted  oak,  black-jack,  and  hickory 
— few  of  sufficient  size  to  feel  the  force  of  the  tem- 
pest, or  prove  very  conspicuous  conductors  of  the 
lightning.  Obeying  the  suggestion  and  following  the 
example  of  his  companion.  Singleton  dismounted,  and 
the  two  placed  themselves  and  their  horses  as  much 
upon  the  sheltered  side  of  the  clump  as  possible,  yet 
sufficiently  far  to  escape  any  danger  from  its  over- 
throw. Here  they  awaited  the  coming  of  the  tempest. 
The  experienced  woodman  alone  could  have  spoken 
for  its  approach.  A  moment's  pause  had  intervened, 
Avhen  the  suddenly  aroused  elements  seemed  as  sud- 
denly to  have  sunk  into  grim  repose.  A  slight  sighing 
of  the  wind  only,  as  it  wound  sluggishly  along  the  dis- 
tant wood,  had  its  warning,  and  the  dense  blackness 
of  the  imbodied  storm  was  only  evident  at  moments 


THE    PARTISAN.  179 

when  the  occasional  rush  of  the  lightning  made  visible 
its  gloomy  terrors. 

"It's  making  ready  for  a  charge,  major :  it's  just 
like  a  good  captain,  sir,  that  calls  in  his  scouts 
and  sentries,  and  orders  all  things  to  keep  quiet,  and 
without  beat  of  drum  gets  all  fixed  to  spring  out  from 
the  bush  upon  them  that's  coming.  It  won't  be  long 
now,  sir,  before  we  get  it ;  but  just  now  it's  still  as 
the  grave.  It's  waiting  for  its  outriders — them  long 
streaky  white  clouds  it  sent  out  an  hour  ago,  like  so 
many  scouts.  They're  a-coming  up  now,  and  when 
they  all  get  up  together — then  look  out  for  the  squall. 
Quiet,  now,  Mossfoot — quiet  now,  creature — don't  be 
frightened — it's  not  a-going  to  hurt  you,  nag — not  a  bit." 

Humphries  patted  his  favourite  while  speaking,  and 
strove  to  sooth  and  quiet  the  impatience  Avhich  both 
horses  exhibited.  This  was  in  that  strange  pause  of 
the  storm  which  is  its  most  remarkable  feature  in  the 
South — that  singular  interregnum  of  the  winds,  when, 
after  giving  repeated  notice  of  their  most  terrific  ac- 
tion, they  seem  almost  to  forget  their  purpose,  and 
for  a  few  moments  appear  to  slumber  in  their  inac- 
tivity. Butthe  pause  was  only  momentary,  and  was  now 
at  an  end.  In  another  instant,  they  heard  the  rush  and 
the  roar,  as  of  a  thousand  wild  steeds  of  the  desert 
ploughing  the  sands  ;  then  followed  the  mournful  howl- 
ing of  the  trees — the  shrieking  of  the  lashed  winds, 
as  if,  under  the  influence  of  some  fierce  demon  who 
enjoyed  his  triumph,  they  plunged  through  the  forest, 
wailing  at  their  own  destructive  progress,  yet  com- 
pelled unswervingly  to  hurry  forward.  They  twisted 
the  pine  from  its  place,  snapping  it  as  a  reed,  while 
its  heavy  fall  to  the  ground  which  it  had  so  long  shel- 
tered, called  up,  even  amid  the  roar  of  the  tempest, 
a  thousand  echoes  from  the  forest.  The  branches  of 
the  wood  were  prostrated  like  so  much  heather,  wrested 
and  swept  from  the  tree  which  yielded  them  with- 
out a  struggle  to  the  blast ;  and  the  crouching  horses 
and  riders  below  were  in  an  instant  covered  with  a 
cloud   of  fragments.      These    were    the    precursors 


180  THE    PARTISAN. 

merely :  then  came  the  arrowy  flight  and  form  of  the 
hurricane  itself — its  actual  bulk — its  imbodied  power, 
pressing  along  through  the  forest  in  a  gyratory  progress, 
not  fifty  yards  wide,  never  distending  in  width,  yet 
capriciously  winding  from  right  to  left  and  left  to  right, 
in  a  zigzag  direction,  as  if  a  playful  spirit  thus  strove 
to  mix  with  all  the  terrors  of  destruction  the  sportive 
mood  of  the  most  idle  fancy.  In  this  progress,  the  whole 
wood  in  its  path  underwent  prostration — the  thick, 
proud  pine,  the  deep-rooted  and  unbending  oak,  the 
small  cedar  and  the  pliant  shrub,  torn,  dismembered 
of  their  fine  proportions  ;  some,  only  by  a  timely  yielding 
to  the  pressure,  passed  over  with  little  injiuy,  as  if  too 
much  scorned  by  the  assailant  for  assault.  The 
larger  trees  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  spot  where  our 
partisans  had  taken  shelter,  shared  the  harsher  fortune 
generally,  for  they  were  in  the  very  track  of  the  tempest. 
Too  sturdy  and  massive  to  yield,  they  withheld  their 
homage,  and  were  either  snapped  off"  relentlessly  and 
short,  or  were  torn  and  twisted  up  from  their  very 
roots.  The  poor  horses,  with  eyes  staring  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  storm,  with  ears  erect,  and  manes  flying  in 
the  wind,  stood  trembling  in  every  joint,  too  much  terri- 
fied, or  too  conscious  of  their  helplessness,  to  attempt 
to  fly.  All  around  the  crouching  party,  the  woods 
seemed  for  several  seconds  absolutely  flattened.  Huge 
trees  were  prostrated,  and  their  branches  were  cluster- 
ing thickly,  and  almost  forming  a  prison  around  them  ; 
leaving  it  doubtful,  as  the  huge  body  rolled  over  their 
heads,  whether  they  could  ever  make  their  escape 
from  the  enclosure.  Rush  after  rush  of  the  trooping 
winds  went  over  them,  keeping  them  immoveable  in 
their  crowded  shelter  and  position — each  succeeding 
troop  wilder  and  weightier  than  the  last,  until  at  length 
a  sullen,  bellowing  murmur,  which  before  they  had  not 
heard,  announced  the  greater  weight  of  the  hurricane 
to  be  overthrowing  the  forests  in  the  distance.  The 
chief  danger  had  overblown.  Gradually ,  the  warm, 
oppressive  breath  passed  off" ;  the  air  again  grew  sud- 
denly cool,  and  a  gush  of  heavy  drops  came  falling 


THE    PARTISAN.  -[gj^ 

from  (he  heavens,  as  if  they  too  had  been  just  re- 
leased from  the  intolerable  pressure  which  had  bur- 
dened earth.  Moaning  pitifully,  the  prostrated  trees 
and  shrubs,  those  which  had  survived  the  storm,  though 
shorn  by  its  embraces,  gradually,  and  seemingly  with 
painful  effort,  once  more  elevated  themselves  to  their 
old  position.  Their  sighings,  as  they  did  so,  were 
almost  human  to  the  ears  of  our  crouching  warriors, 
whom  their  movement  in  part  released.  Far  and  near, 
the  moaning  of  the  forest  around  them  was  strangely, 
but  not  unpleasantly,  heightened  in  its  effect  upon  their 
senses,  by  the  distant  and  decaying  roar  of  the  past 
and  far  travelling  hurricane,  as,  ploughing  the  deep 
woods  and  laying  waste  all  in  its  progress,  it  rushed 
on*  to  a  meeting  with  the  kindred  storms  that  gather 
about  the  gloomy  god  of  Cape  Hatteras,  and  stir  and 
foam  along  his  waters  of  the  Atlantic. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  no  worse,  major,"  cried  Hum- 
phries, rising  and  shaking  himself  from  the  brush  with 
which  he  was  covered. 

**  The  danger  is  now  over,  though  it  was  mighty 
close  to  our  haunches.  Look,  now,  at  this  pine,  split 
all  to  shivers,  and  the  top  not  five  feet  from  Mossfoot's 
quarters.  The  poor  beast  would  ha'  been  in  a  sad 
fix  a  little  to  the  left  there." 

Extricating  themselves,  they  helped  their  steeds 
out  of  the  brush,  though  with  some  difficulty — soothing 
them  all  the  while  with  words  of  encouragement.  As 
Humphries  had  already  remarked  in  his  rude  fashion, 
the  horse,  at  such  moments,  feels  and  acknowledges 
his  dependence  upon  man,  looks  to  him  for  the  bridle, 
and  flies  to  him  for  protection.  They  were  almost 
passive  in  the  hands  of  their  masters,  and  under  the 
unsubsided  fear  would  have  followed  them,  like  tame 
dogs,  in  any  direction. 

The  storm,  though  diminished  of  its  terrors,  still 
continued ;  but  this  did  not  discourage  the  troopers. 
They  were  soon  mounted,  and  once  more  upon  their 
way.  The  darkness,  in  part,  had  been  dissipated  by 
the   hurricane.     It  had  swept  on  to   other  regions, 

Vol.  I.— Q 


182  THE    PARTI SA^N. 

leaving  behind-  it  only  detached  masses  of  wind  arid 
rain-clouds  sluggishly  hanging,  or  fitfully  flying  along 
the  sky.  These,  though  still  sufficient  to  defeat  the 
light  of  the  moon,  could  not  altogether  prevent  a  strag- 
gluig  ray  vi^hich  peeped  out  timidly  at  pauses  in  the 
storm  ;  and  which,  though  it  could  not  illumine,  still- 
contrived  to  diminish  somewhat  the  gloomy  and  forbid- 
ding character  of  the  scene.  Such  gleams  in  the  nat- 
ural, are  like  the  assurances  of  hope  in  the  moral  world 
— they  speak  of  to-morrow — they  promise  us  that  the 
clouds  must  pass  away — they  cheer,  when  there  is^ 
little  left  to  charm. 

The  path  over  which  the  partisans  journeyed  had 
been  little  used,  and  was  greatly  overgi'own.  They 
could  move  but  slowly,  therefore,  in  the  imperfect 
light ;  and,  but  for  the  frequent  flashes  of  lightning,  it 
might  have  been  doubtful,  though  Humphries  knevir 
the  country,  whether  they  could  have  found  their  way. 
Btit  the  same  agent  which  gave  them  light,  had  nearly 
destroyed  them.  While  Humphries,  descending  from 
his  steed,  which  he  led  by  the  bridlej  was  looking 
about  for  a  by-path  that  he  expected  to  ffnd  in  the 
neighbourhood,  a  sudden  stroke  of  the  lightning,  and 
the  overwhelming  blaze  which  seemed  to  kindle  all 
around  them,  and  remained  for  several  seconds  sta- 
tionary, drove  back  the  now  doubly  terrified  steeds, 
and  almost  blinded  their  riders.  That  of  Singleton 
sunk  upon  his  haunches,  while  Mossfoot,  in  her  terror^ 
dragged  Humphries,  who  still  grasped  firmly  his  bri- 
dle, to  some  little  distance  in  the  woods.  Sudden, 
blackness  succeeded,  save  in  one  spot,  where  a  tree 
had  been  smitten  by  the  fiuid,^  and  was  now  blazing 
along  the  oozy  gum  at  its  sides.  The  line  of  fire  was 
drawn  along  the  tree,  up  and  down — a  bright  flame,  that 
showed  them  more  of  the  track  they  were  pursuing 
than  they  had  seen  before.  In  the  first  moment 
following  the  cessation  of  the  fiercer  blaze  made  by  the 
lightning,  and  when  the  tree  first  began  to  extend  a  cer- 
taiB  light,  Singleton  thought  he  saw  through  the  copse 
the  outline  of  a  human  form,  on  foot,  moving  quickly 


THE    PARTISAN.  1  S3 

•along  the  road  above  him.  He  called  quickly  to 
Humphries,  but  the  lieutenant  was  busy  with  his  steed, 
asid  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Again  was  the  object  visible, 
and  Singleton  then  cried  out — 

"  Who  goes  there  ? — ho  !" 

No  answer ;  and  the  fugitive  only  seemed  to  increase 
his  speed,  turning  aside  to  the  denser  woods,  as  if 
h-e  strove  to  elude  observation.  The  challenge  was 
repeated. 

"■  What,  ho !  there — who  goes  ?    Speak,  or  I  shoot." 

He  detached  one  of  his  pistols  from  the  holster  as  he 
spoke,  and  cocked  st  to  be  in  readiness.  Still  no  answer, 
the  person  addressed  moving  more  quickly  than  ever. 
With  the  sight,  with  an  instinct  like  lightning,  the  parti- 
san put  spurs  to  his  steed,  and  drove  fearlessly  through, 
the  bush  in  pursuit.  Tlie  fugitive  now  took  fairly  to 
his  heels,  leaping  over  a  fallen  tree,  fully  in  sight  of  his 
pursuer.  In  a  moment  after,  the  steed  went  after 
him — Humphries,  by  this  time  in  saddle,  closely  fol- 
lowing on  the  heels  of  his  commander.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  object  was  lost  to  sight,  but  in  the  next  he 
appeared  again. 

"  Stand  !"  was  the  cry,  and  with  it  the  shot.  Tlie 
ball  rushed  into  the  bush,  which  seemed  to  shelter 
the  flying  man,  and  where  they  had  last  seen  him — they 
bounded  to  the  spot,  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen. 

"  He  was  here — you  saw  him,  Humphries,  did  y<3U 
not  r 

"  A  bit  of  him,  major — a  small  chance  of  him  behind 
the  bush,  but  too  little  a  mark  for  them  pistols." 

"  He  is  there — there  !"  and  catching  another  glimpse 
of  the  fugitive.  Singleton  led  the  pursuit,  again  firing 
as  he  flew,  and,  without  pausing  to  wait  the  result, 
leaping  down  to  the  spot  where  he  appeared  to  them. 
The  pursuit  was  equally  fruitless  with  the  aim.  The 
place  was  bare.  They  had  plunged  into  a  hollow,  and 
found  themselves  in  a  sort  of  ditch,  almost  knee  deep 
in  water.  Th«y  looked  about  vainly,  Humphries  lead- 
ing the  search  with  unusual  earnestness. 

^'J  like  not,  major,  that  the  fellow  should  escape^ 


184  THE    PARTISAN. 

Why  should  he  stand  a  shot,  rather  than  refuse  to  half, 
and  answer  to  a  civil  question  ?  I'm  dubious,  major, 
there's  something  wrong  in  it  ;  and  he  came  from  the 
direction  leading  to  our  camp." 

"  Ha  t  are  you  sure  of  that,  Humphries  ? — think  you 
so?" 

"  Ay,  sir — the  pine  that  was  struck  marks  the  by- 
path through  which  1  should  have  carried  you  in 
daylight.  It  is  the  shortest,  though  the  worst;  and  h.& 
could  not  have  been  far  from  it  when  you  started  him. 
Ah !  I  have  it  now.  A  mile  from  this  is  the  house  of 
old  Mother  Blouay,  the  dam  of  that  fellow  Goggle. 
We  will  ride  there,  major,  if  you  say  so." 

"  With  what  object,  Humphries?  wha.i  has  she  to 
do  with  it  V 

"  I  suspect  the  fugitive  to  be  Goggle,  the  chap  I 
warned  you  not  to  take  into  the  troop.  Better  we  had 
hung  him  up,  for  he's  not  one  to  depend  upon.  All 
his  blood's  bad  :  his  father — him  they  call  so,  at  least — 
was  a  horse-thief ;  and  some  say,  that  he  has  a  cross 
in  his  blood.  As  for  that,  it's  clear  to  me,  that  Goggl© 
is  a  half-breed  Indian,  or  mestizo,  or  something.  Any- 
body that  looks  on  Goggle  will  say  so  ;  and  then  the 
nature  of  the  beast  is  so  like  an  Indian — why,  sir^ 
lie's  got  no  more  feeling  than  a  pine  stump.'' 

"And  with  what  motive  would  you  ride  to  his 
mother's  ?" 

''  Why,  sir,  if  this  skulking  chap  be  Goggle,  he*"© 
either  been  there,  or  is  on  his  way  there  ;  and  if  so, 
be  sure  he's  after  mischief.  Proctor  or  Huck  at  the 
garrison  will  soon  have  him  among  them,  and  hell  get 
his  pay  in  English  guineas  for  desertion.  Now,  sir, 
it's  easy  to  see  if  he's  been  there,  for  I  s'pose  the  old 
liag  don't  mind  to  tell  us." 

"  Lead  on  !     A  mile,  you  say  ?" 

"  A  short  mile  ;  and  if  he's  not  been  there  yet,  he 
must  be  about  somcAvhere,  and  we  may  get  something 
out  of  the  old  woman,  who  passes  for  a  witch  about 
here,  and  tells  fortunes,  and  can  show  you  where  to 
find  stolen  cattle ;  and  they  do  say>  majorj  thougt^  i 


THE    PARTISAN.  185 

never  believed  it — they  do  say,"  and  the  tones  of  his 
voice  fell  as  he  spoke — "  they  do  say  she  can  put  the 
bad  mouth  upon  people  ;  and  there's  not  a  few  that  lay 
all  their  aches  and  complaints  to  her  door." 

"  Indeed  !"  was  the  reply  of  Singleton  ;  ''  indeed ! 
that  is  a  sight  worth  seeing  ;  and  so  let  us  ride,  Hum- 
phries, and  get  out  of  this  swamp  thicket  with  all  pos- 
sible speed." 

"  A  loEg  leap,  major,  will  be  sure  to  do  it.  But 
better  we  move  slowly.  I  don't  want  to  lose  our 
chance  at  this  rascal  for  something  ;  and  who  knows 
but  we  may  catch  him  there.  He's  a  great  skunk, 
now,  major,  that  same  Goggle ;  and  though  hanging's 
much  too  good  for  him,  yet,  them  pistols  would  have 
pleased  me  better  had  they  lodged  the  ball  more 
closely." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

*'  A  hag  that  hell  has  work  for — a  bom  slave 
To  an  o'ercoming  evil — venomous,  vile, 
Snake-like,  that  hugs  the  bush  and  bites  the  heelJ' 

The  troopers  had  not  been  well  gone,  before  the 
fugitive  they  had  so  vainly  pursued  stood  upon  the 
very  spot  which  they  had  left.  He  rose  from  the  mire 
of  the  creek,  in  which  he  had  not  paused  to  imbed 
himself  when  the  search  was  hottest  and  close  upon 
him.  The  conjecture  of  Humphries  was  correct,  and 
Goggle  or  Blonay  was  the  person  they  had  chased. 
He  had  left  his  post  in  the  bivouac  when  the  storm 
came  on,  and  was  then  upon  his  way  to  his  mother's 
cabin.  From  that  spot  his  farther  course  was  to  the 
British  garrison  with  his  intelligence.  His  determina- 
tion in  this  respect,  however,  underwent  a  change,  as 
we  shall  see  in  the  progress  of  the  narrative. 

Never  had  better  knowledge  of  character  been 
Q2 


186  THE    FARTISAW, 

shown  than  in  the  estimate  made  by  Hurnphries  of 
that  of  the  deserter.  Goggle  was  as  warped  in  morals 
as  he  was  blear  in  vision ;  a  wretch  aptly  fitted  for  the 
horse-thief,  the  tory,  and  murderer.  His  objects  were 
evil  generally,  and  he  had  no  scruples  as  to  the  means 
by  which  to  secure  them.  Equally  indifferent  to  him 
what  commandment  he  violated  in  these  practices  ;  for, 
with  little  regard  from  society,  he  had  no  sympathy  with 
it,  and  only  obeyed  its  laws  as  he  feared  and  would 
avoid  their  penalties.  He  hated  society  accordingly 
as  he  was  compelled  to  fear  it.  He  looked  upon  it  as  a 
victim  to  be  destroyed  with  the  opportunity,  as  a  spoil 
to  be  appropriated  with  the  desire  for  its  attainment ; 
and  the  moods  of  such  a  nature  were  impatient  for 
exercise,  even  u]X)n  occasions  when  he  could  hope  no 
addition  to  his  pleasure  or  his  profit  from  their  indul- 
gence. 

Squat  in  the  ooze  and  water  of  the  creek,  while  the 
horse  of  Singleton  at  one  moment  almost  stood  over 
him,  he  had  drawn  breath  with  difticulty  through  the 
leaves  of  a  bush  growing  upon  the  edge  of  the  ditch 
in  which  his  head  had  found  concealment ;  and  in  this 
perilous  situation  his  savage  spirit  actually  prompted 
him  to  thrust  his  knjfe  into  the  belly  of  the  animal. 
He  had  drawn  it  for  this  purpose  from  his  belt,  while 
his  hands  and  body  were  under  water.  Its  point  was 
already  turned  upward  when  Singleton  moved  away 
from  the  dangerous  proximity.  Here  he  listened  to 
the  dialogue  which  the  two  carried  on  concerning 
him  ;  and,  even  in  that  predicament  of  dirt  and  danger 
in  which  he  lay,  his  mind  brooded  over  a  thousand 
modes  by  which  he  should  enjoy  his  malignant  appe- 
tite, that  craved  for  revenge  upon  them  both.  When 
they  were  fairly  gone,  he  rose  from  the  mire  and  as- 
cended cautiously  to  the  bank  ;  shook  himself  like  a 
water-dog,  while  he  almost  shivered  in  the  saturated 
garments  which  he  wore  ;  then  rubbed  and  grumbled 
over  the  rifle  which  he  had  taken  with  him  into  the 
mire,  and  which  came  out  as  full  of  its  ooze  and  water 
as  himself. 


THE    PARTISAN.  187 

"  So  ho  !"  said  he,  as  he  shook  himself  free  from 
the  mud — "  So  ho !  they  are  gone  to  old  Moll's  to 
look  after  me,  eh !  Now  would  I  lilce  to  put  this  bul- 
let into  that  Dorchester  skunk,  Humphries,  d — n  him. 
I  am  of  bad  blood,  am  I ! — my  father  a  horse-thief  and  a 
mulatto,  and  I  only  lit  for  hanging  !  The  words  must 
be  paid  for  ;  and  Moll  must  answer  for  some  of  them. 
She  is  my  mother,  that's  clear — she  shall  tell  me  this 
night  who  my  father  is  ;  for,  Blonay,  or  Goggle,  or  the 
devil,  I  will  know.  She  shall  put  me  off  no  longer. 
No !  though  she  tells  me  the  worst — though  she  tells 
me  that  I  am  the  spawn  of  Jack  Drayton's  driver,  as 
once  before  I've  heard  it." 

Thus  muttering,  he  looked  to  his  flint  and  inspected 
the  priming  of  his  rifle.  With  much  chagrin  he  found 
the  powder  saturated  with  water,  and  the  charge  use- 
less. He  searched  his  pockets,  but  his  flask  was  gone. 
He  had  purposed  the  murder  of  Humphries  or  Singleton 
had  this  not  been  the  case.  He  now  without  hesi- 
tation took  the  track  after  them,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  came  in  sight  of  the  miserable  clay  and  log 
hovel  in  which  his  motlier,  odious  and  dreaded  as  she 
was,  passed  fitly  her  existence.  This  spot  was  dreary 
in  the  extreme  :  a  few  cheerless  pines  rose  around  it, 
and  the  thick  fennel  waved  its  equally  bald,  though 
more  crowded  forms  in  uncurbed  vegetation  among 
them.  The  hovel  stood  in  a  hollow,  considerably 
below  the  surrounding  level,  and  the  little  glimmer  of 
light  piercing  from  between  the  logs  only  made  its 
location  seem  more  cheerless  to  the  observer. 

Blonay — or,  as  we  shall  hereafter  call  him,  according 
to  the  fashion  of  the  country,  Goggle — cautiously  ap- 
proached a  jungle,  in  which  he  hid  himself,  about  a 
stone's  throw  from  the  hovel.  There  he  watched,  as 
well  as  he  might,  in  the  imperfect  light  of  the  evening, 
for  the  appearance  of  the  troopers.  Though  mounted, 
they  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  reaching  the  spot,  which, 
familiar  to  him  from  childhood,  he  well  knew  to  find 
in  the  darkest  night,  and  by  a  route  the  most  direct. 
He  was  there  before  them,  snug  in  his  cover,  and  coolly 


188  THE    PARTISAN. 

looking  out  for  their  coming.  More  than  once  he 
threw  up  the  pan  of  his  rifle,  carefully  keeping  it  from 
its  usual  click  by  the  intervention  of  his  finger,  and 
cursed  within  himself  his  ill  fortune,  as  he  found 
the  powder,  saturated  with  water,  a  soft  paste  beneath 
his  touch.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  seeking 
there  for  some  straggling  grains,  of  which  in  the  emer- 
gency he  might  avail  himself;  but  he  looked  fruitless- 
ly, and  was  compelled  to  forego  the  hope  of  a  shot,  so 
much  desired,  at  one  or  other  of  the  persons  now 
emerging  from  the  wood  before  him. 

The  barking  of  a  cur  warned  the  indweller  of  visit- 
ers, but  without  offering  any  obstacle  to  their  advance. 
Humphries  proceeded  first,  and  motioning  his  com- 
panion to  keep  his  saddle:,  fastened  his  horse  to  a 
bough,  and  treading  lightly,  looked  through  the  crev- 
ices of  the  logs,  upon  the  old  crone  within.  Though 
in  June,  a  warm  season  at  all  times  in  Carolina,  the 
old  woman  partook  too  much  of  the  habits  of  the  very 
low  in  that  region  to  be  without  a  fire  ;  and  with  the 
taste  of  the  negro,  she  was  now  bending  over  a  huge  light 
wood  blaze,  with  a  pipe  of  rude  structure  and  no  small 
dimensions  in  her  mouth,  from  which  the  occasional 
puff  went  forth,  filling  the  apartment  with  the  unplea- 
sant efliuvia  of  the  vilest  leaf-tobacco  ;  while  her  body 
and  head  swung  ever  to  and  fro,  with  a  regular 
seesaw  motion,  that  seemed  an  habitual  exercise. 
Her  thin,  shrivelled,  and  darkly  yellow  features,  were 
hag-like  and  discouraging.  The  skin  was  tightly 
drawn  across  the  face,  and  the  high  cheek-bones,  and 
the  nose,  seemed  disposed  to  break  through  the  slender 
restraints  of  their  covering.  Her  eyes  were  small  and 
sunken,  of  a  light  gray,  and  had  a  lively  twinkle,  that 
did  not  accord  with  the  wretched  and  decayed  aspect 
of  her  other  features.  Her  forehead  was  small,  and 
clustered  with  grisly  hair  of  mixed,  white  and  black, 
disordered  and  unbound,  but  still  short,  and  with  the 
appearance  of  having  but  lately  undergone  clipping  at 
the  extremities.  These  features,  stern  in  themselves, 
were  greatly  heightened  in  their  general  expression 


THE    PARTISAN.  189 

by  the  severe  mouth  and  sharp  chin  below  them. 
The  upper  Hp  was  flat,  undeveloped  entirely,  while 
the  lower  was  thrust  forth  in  a  thick  curl,  and,  closely 
rising  and  clinging  to  the  other,  somewhat  lifted  her 
glance  into  a  sort  of  insolent  authority,  which,  some- 
times accompanying  aroused  feeling,  or  an  elevated 
mood  of  mind,  might  look  like  dignified  superiority. 
The  dress  which  she  wore  was  of  the  poorest  sort, 
the  commonest  white  homespun  of  the  country,  prob- 
ably her  own  manufacture,  and  so  indifferently  made, 
that  it  hung  about  her  like  a  sack,  and  gave  a  full 
view  of  the  bronzed  and  skinny  neck  and  bosom, 
which  a  regard  to  her  appearance  might  have  prompted 
her  to  conceal.  Beside  her  a  couple  of  cats  of  mam- 
moth size  kept  up  a  drowsy  hum,  entirely  undisturbed 
by  the  yelping  of  the  cur,  which, from  his  little  kennel 
at  one  end  of  the  hovel,  maintained  a  continuous  clam- 
our at  the  approach  of  Humphries.  The  old  woman 
simply  turned  her  head,  for  a  moment,  to  the  entrance, 
took  the  pipe  from  her  mouth,  and,  discharging  the 
volume  of  smoke  which  followed  it,  cried  harshly  to 
the  dog,  as  if  in  encouragement.  Her  call  was 
answered  by  Humphries,  who,  rapping  at  the  door, 
spoke  civilly  to  the  inmate. 

"  Now,  open  the  door,  good  mother.  We  are  friends, 
who  would  speak  with  you.  We  have  been  caught 
in  the  storm,  and  want  you  to  give  us  house-room  till 
it's  over." 

"  Friends  ye  may  be,  and  ye  may  not.  Down  by 
the  dry  branch,  and  through  the  old  road  to  mother 
Blonay's,  is  no  walk  that  friends  often  take  ;  and  if  ye 
be  travellers,  go  ye  on,  for  thei'e's  no  accommodation 
for  ye,  and  but  litde  here  ye  would  eat.  It's  a  poor 
country  y'are  in,  strangers,  and  nothing  short  of  Dor- 
chester, or  it  may  be  Rantoule's,  will  serve  your  turn 
for  a  tavern." 

"  Now,  out  upon  you,  mother !  would  you  keep  a 
shut  door  upon  us,  and  the  rain  still  pouring  V  cried 
Humphries,  sharply. 

<'  Ye  have  been  in  it  over  long  to  mind  it  now,  I  'm 


19Q  THE    PARTISAN. 

thinking,  and  ye'd  be^tter  rid«  it  out.  I  have  nothing 
for  ye,  if  ye  would  rob.  I'm  but  a  lane  woman,  and 
a  poor  ;  and  have  no  plate,  no  silver,  no  fine  watch,  nor 
rings,  nor  any  thing  that  is  worth  your  takings  Go  to 
"  The  Oaks,"  or  Middleton  Place,  or  the  old  hall  at 
Archdale,  or  any  of  the  fine  houses  ;  they  have  plenty 
of  good  picking  there." 

"  Now,  how  pleasantly  the  old  hag  tells  us  to  go  and 
steal,  and  she  looking  down,  as  a  body  may  say,  into 
the  very  throat  of  the  grave  that's  gaping  after  her." 
The  old  woman,  meanwhile,  as  if  satisfied  with  what 
she  had  done,  resumed  her  pipe,  and  recommenced 
her  motion,  to  and  fro,  over  the  blaze.  Humphries 
was  for  a  smart  application  of  the  foot  to  the  frail  door 
that  kept  him  out,  but  to  this  his  companion  refused 
assent. 

"  Confound  the  old  hag,  major  ;  she  will  play  with 
"US  after  this  fashion  all  the  night.  I  know  her  of  old, 
and  that's  the  only  way  to  serve  her.  Nothing  but 
kicks  for  that  breed ;  civility  is  thrown  away  upon 
them." 

"  No,  no — you  are  rash  ;  let  me  speak. — I  say,  my 
good  woman,  we  are  desirous  of  entrance ;  we  have 
business,  and  would  speak  with  you." 

*'  Business  with  me !  and  it's  a  genilemau's  voice 
too  ]  Maybe  he  would  have  a  love-charm,  since  there 
are  such  fools ;  or  he  has  an  enemy,  and  would  have 
a  bad  mouth  put  upon  him,  shall  make  him  shrivel  up 
and  die  by  inches,  without  any  disease.  I  have 
worked  in  this  business,  and  may  do  more.  Well, 
there's  good  wages  for  it,  and  no  danger.  Who  shall 
see,  when  I  beg  in  the  rich  man's  kitchen,  that  I  put 
the  poison  leaf  in  the  soup,  or  stir  the  crumbs  with  the 
parching  coffee,  or  sprinkle  the  powder  Avith  the  corn 
flour,  or  knead  it  up  with  the  dough  ?  It's  a  safe 
business  enough,  and  the  pay  is  good,  though  it  goes 
over  soon  for  the  way  it  comes." 

^' Come.,  come,  my  good  woman,"  cried  Singleton 
impatiently,  as  the  old  beldam  thus  muttered  to  herself 
the  various  secrets  ©flier  capacity,  and  strove  to  conjee- 


THE    PARTISAN^  191 

tore  the  nature  of  the  business  which  her  visiters 
had  with  her.  "  Come,  come,  my  good  woman,  let 
us  in ;  we  are  hurried,  and  have  no  little  to  do  before 
daylight." 

"  Good  woman,  indeed  !  Well,  many's  the  one 
been  called  good  with  as  little  reason.  Yes,  sir, 
coming ;  my  old  limbs  are  feeble ;  I  do  not  move  as 
I  used  to  when  I  was  young." 

Thus  apologizing,  with  her  pipe  in  one  hand,  while 
the  other  undid  the  entrancCj  Mother  Blonay  admitted 
her  visiters. 

"So,  you  have  been  young  once,  mother?"  said 
Humphries,  while  entering. 

The  old  woman  darted  a  glance  upon  him — a  stead- 
fast glance  from  her  little  gray  eyes,  and  the  stout  and 
fearless  trooper  felt  a  chill  go  through  his  veins  on 
the  instant.  He  knew  the  estimate  put  upon  her 
throughout  the  neighbourhood,  as  one  possessed  of  the 
evil  eye,  or  rather  the  evil  mouth ;  one  whose  word 
brought  blight  among  the  cattle,  and  whom  the  negroes 
feared  with  a  superstitious  dread,  as  able  to  bring  sick- 
ness and  pestilence — a  gnawing  disease  that  ate  away 
silently,  until,  without  any  visible  complaint,  the  victim 
perished  hopelessly.  Their  fears  had  been  adopted 
in  part  by  the  whites  of  the  lower  class  in  the  same 
region,  and  Humphries,  though  a  bold  and  sensible 
fellov/,  had  heard  of  too  many  dreadful  influences 
ascribed  to  her,  not  to  be  unpleasantly  startled  with 
the  peculiar  intensity  of  the  stare  which  she  put  upon 
him. 

"  Young  !"  she  said,  in  reply  ;  "  yes,  I  have  been 
young,  and  I  felt  my  youth.  I  knew  it,  and  I  enjoyed 
it.  But  I  have  oiulived  it,  and  you  see  me  now.  You 
are  young,  too,  Bill  Humphries;  may  you  live  to  have 
the  same  question  asked  you  which  you  put  to  me." 

•'  A.  cold  wish,  Mother  Blonay  ;  a  bitter  cold  wish, 
since  you  should  know,  by  your  own  feelings,  how 
hard  it  will  be  to  outlive  activity  and  love,  and  th® 
young  people  that  come  about  us.  It's  a  sad  season 
that,  mother,  and  may  I  die  before  it   comes.     But, 


192  THE    PARTISAN. 

talking  of  yoimg  people,  mother,  reminds  me  that  you 
are  not  so  lonesome  as  you  say.  You  have  your  son, 
now,  Goggle." 

"  If  his  eye  is  blear,  Bill  Humphries,  it's  not  the 
part  of  good  manners  to  speak  of  it  to  his  mother. 
The  curse  of  a  blear  eye,  and  a  blind  eye,  may  fall 
upon  you  yet.  and  upon  yours — ay,  down  to  your 
children's  children,  for  any  thing  we  know." 

"  That's  true,  mother — none  of  us  can  say.  I  meant 
no  harm,  but  as  everybody  calls  him  Goggle — " 

"  The  redbug  be  upon  everybody  that  so  calls  him! 
The  boy  has  a  name  by  law." 

"  Well,  well,  mother,  do  not  be  angry,  and  wish  no 
sores  upon  your  neighbour's  shins  that  you  can't  wish 
off.  The  redbugs  and  the  June-flies  are  bad  enough 
already,  without  orders ;  and  people  do  say  you  are 
quite  too  free  in  sending  such  plagues  upon  them,  for 
little  cause,  or  for  no  cause  at  all." 

"  It's  a  blessing  that  I  can  do  it.  Bill  Humphries,  or 
idle  rowdies,  such  as  yourself,  would  harry  the  old 
woman  to  death  for  their  sport.  It's  a  blessing  and 
a  protection  that  I  can  make  the  yellowjacket  and  the 
redbug  leave  their  poison  stings  in  the  tender  flesh, 
so  that  the  jester  that  laughs  at  the  old  and  suffering 
shall  learn  some  suffering  too." 

"  Quite  a  hard  punishment  for  such  an  offence. 
But,  mother,  they  say  you  do  more  ;  that  you  have  the 
spell  of  the  bad  mouth,  that  brings  long  sickness  and 
sudden  death,  and  many  awful  troubles  ;  and  some  that 
don't  wish  you  well,  say  you  love  to  use  it." 

"  Do  they  say  so  ? — then  they  say  not  amiss.  Think 
you,  Bill  Humphries,  that  I  should  not  flght  with  him 
who  hates  me,  and  would  destroy  me  if  he  could  ?  I 
do  ;  and  the  bad  mouth  of  Mother  Blonay  upon  you, 
shall  make  the  bones  in  your  skin  ache  for  long 
months  after,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  beg,  for  God's  sake,  that  you'll  not  put  your  bad 
mouth  upon  me,  good  mother,"  exclaimed  Humphries, 
with  ludicrous  rapidity,  as  if  he  half  feared  the  imme- 
diate exercise  of  the  faculty  upon  him.      The   old 


THE    PARTISAN.  193 

woman  seemed  pleased  with  this  tacit  acknowledg- 
ment of  her  power,  and  she  now  twisted  her  chair 
about  so  as  to  place  herself  directly  in  front  of  Sin- 
gleton. He,  meanwhile,  had  been  closely  scrutinizing 
the  apartment,  Avhich  was  in  no  respects  better  than 
those  of  the  commonest  negro-houses  of  the  low 
country.  The  floor  was  the  native  soil.  The  Avind 
was  excluded  by  clay,  loosely  thrust  between  the  crev- 
ices of  the  logs  ;  and  an  old  scaffolding  of  poles,  sup- 
porting a  few  rails  crossing  each  other,  sustained  the 
mattress  of  moss,  upon  which  the  woman  slept,  un- 
assisted seemingly,  and  entirely  alone.  A  few  gourds, 
or  calabashes,  hung  from  the  roof,  which  was  scantily 
sliingled:  these  contained  seeds  of  various  kinds, 
bunches  of  dried  thyme,  sage,  and  other  herbs  and 
plants  ;  and  some  which,  by  a  close  analysis  of  their 
properties,  would  be  found  to  contain  a  sufficient  solu- 
tion of  the  source  from  whence  came  her  spells  of 
power  over  her  neighbours,  whether  for  good  or  evil. 

Singleton  had  employed  himself  in  noticing  all  these 
several  objects,  and  the  probability  is  that  the  quick 
eye  of  the  old  woman  had  discovered  his  occupation. 
She  turned  her  chair  so  as  to  place  herself  directly 
before  him,  and  the  glance  of  her  eye  confronting  his, 
compelled  him  to  a  similar  change  of  position.  The 
docile  cats,  with  a  sluggish  effort,  changed  their 
ground  also  ;  and  after  circling  thrice  their  new  places 
of  repose,  before  laying  themselves  down  upon  it,  they 
soon  resumed  their  even  and  self-satisfied  slumberous 
hum,  which  the  movement  of  their  mistress  had  inter- 
rupted. A  moment  of  silence  intervened,  during  which 
Dame  Blonay  employed  herself  in  examining  Sin- 
gleton's person  and  countenance.  He  was  unknown 
to  her,  and  a  curious  desire  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  new  faces,  is,  perhaps,  as  much  the  characteristic 
of  age  as  garrulity.  Memory,  in  this  way,  becomes 
stirred  up  actively,  and  the  decaying  mind  delights  in 
such  a  survey,  that  it  may  liken  the  stranger  to  some 
well  known  individual  of  former  days.     It  is  thus  that 

Vol.  I.— R 


194  THE    PARTISAN. 

the  present  time  continually  supplies  with  aliment 
the  past  from  which  it  receives  so  much  of  its  own. 
The  close  survey  did  not  please  Singleton,  who  at 
length  interrupted  it  by  resuming  the  subject  where 
Humphries  had  discoatimied  it.  With  becoming  grav- 
ity, he  asked  her  the  question  which  follows,  on  the  ex- 
tent of  her  powers — 

"  And  so,  dame,  you  really  believe  that  you  possess 
the  power  of  doing  what  you  say  you  can  do  ?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  and  a  great  deal  more.  I  can  dry  up  the 
blood  in  the  veins  of  youth  ;  I  can  put  the  staggering 
weakness  into  the  bones  and  sinews  of  the  strong  man  ; 
I  can  make  the  heart  shrink  that  is  brave — I  can  put 
pain  there  instead  of  pleasure." 

"  Indeed !  if  you  can  do  this,  dame,  you  can  cer- 
tainly do  much  more  than  most  of  your  neighbours. 
But  is  it  not  strange,  mother,  that  these  powers  are  all 
for  evil?  Have  you  no  faculty  for  conferring  good — 
for  cheering  the  heart  instead  of  distressing  it,  and 
giving  pleasure  instead  of  pain?" 

"  Ay  !  I  can  avenge  you  upon  your  enemy  !"  As 
she  spoke,  her  form  suspended  its  waving  motion,  was 
bent  forward  in  eagerness,  and  her  eye  glistened, 
while  her  look  seemed  to  say,  "  Is  not  that  the  ca- 
pacity you  would  have  me  serve  you  in  ?" 

"  That,  also,  is  a  power  of  evil,  dame,  and  not  of 
good.     I  spoke  of  good,  not  evil." 

"  Not  that !"  she  muttered,  with  an  air  of  disappoint- 
ment, while  drawing  herself  back  and  resuming  her 
croning  movement.  "  Not  that !  is  not  revenge  sweet, 
young  master — very  sweet,  when  you  have  been  robbed 
and  wronged  for  years  ;  trampled  in  the  dust ;  laughed 
and  sneered  at ;  hunted  and  hated  :  is  not  the  moment 
of  revenge  sweet  ?  When  you  see  your  enemy  writhing 
in  pain,  you  put  your  ear  down  and  listen  to  his  suf- 
fering, and  your  heart,  that  used  to  beat  only  with  its 
own  sorrow,  you  feel  is  throbbing  with  a  strange, 
sweet  joy  at  his — is  it  not  sweet,  ray  master  ?" 

"  Ay,  sweet,  dame,  but,  I  fear  me,  still  evil ;  still  not 


THE    PARTISAN.  195 

good ;  Still  harmful  to  man.  Have  you  no  better 
powers  in  your  collection  ?  none  to  give  strength  and 
youth,  and  bring  back  health  ?" 

She  pointed  to  a  bunch  of  the  smaller  snake-roots 
■which  lay  in  the  corner,  but  with  much  seeming  indif- 
ference, as  if  the  cure  of  disease  formed  but  an  humble 
portion  of  her  mystery  and  labours. 

"And your  art  gives  you  power  over  affections,  and 
brings  pleasure  sometimes,  mother?" 

"  Is  it  love  ? — the  love  of  the  young  woman — hard  to 
please,  difficult  to  see,  cold  to  sweet  words — that  you 
would  win,  my  young  master  ?" 

She  again  bent  her  head  towards  him,  and  suspended 
her  motion,  as  if  now  hopeful  that,  in  this  reference, 
she  had  found  out  the  true  quest  of  the  seeker.  A 
warm  glow  overspread  the  cheek  of  Singleton,  as  in 
answering  the  inquiry  correctly  he  must  necessarily 
have  confessed  that  such  a  desire  was  in  his  bosom, 
though  certainly  without  any  resort  to  such  practices 
as  might  be  looked  for  in  her  suggestion. 

"  Ay,  indeed,  such  an  art  Avould  be  something  to  me 
now,  could  it  avail  for  any  purpose — could  it  soften  the 
stern,  and  warm  the  cold,  and  make  the  hard  to  please 
easy — but  I  look  not  for  your  aid,  mother,  to  do  all 
this." 

"  I  can  do  it — fear  me  not,"  said  the  old  woman, 
assuringly. 

"  It  may  be,  but  I  choose  not  that  thou  shouldst. 
I  must  toil  for  myself  in  this  matter,  and  the  only  art 
I  may  use  must  be  that  which  I  shall  not  be  ashamed 
of.  But  we  have  another  quest,  dame  ;  and  upon  this 
we  would  have  you  speak  honestly.  You  have  a 
son  f ' 

The  old  woman  looked  earnestly  at  the  speaker  ;  and, 
as  at  that  moment  the  sabre  swung  off  from  his  knee, 
clattering  its  end  upon  the  floor,  she  started  apprehen- 
sively, and  it  could  be  seen  that  she  trembled.  She 
spoke  after  the  pause  of  an  instant. 

"Sure,   captain — Ned,   Ned    Blonay   is    my  son. 


196  THE    PARTISAN. 

What  would  you  tell  me  ?  He  has  met  with  no 
harm  1" 

"  None,  mother — none  that  I  can  speak  of,"  said 
Humphries  quickly ;  "  not  that  he  may  not  have  it  if 
he  does  not  mind  his  tracks  But  tell  us — when  was 
he  here  last,  mother  ?  Was  he  not  here  to-night  1  and 
when  do  you  look  for  him  again  ?" 

The  apprehensions  of  the  woman  had  passed  off; 
she  resumed  her  seesaw  motion,  and  answered  indif- 
ferently. 

"  The  boy  is  his  own  master,  Bill  Humphries ;  it 
is  not  for  an  old  woman  like  me  to  say  for  Ned  Blo- 
nay." 

"  What !  are  you  not  witch  enough  to  manage  your 
own  son  T  Tell  that  to  them  that  don't  know  you  both 
better.  I  say  to  you,  Mother  Blonay,  that  story  wont 
pass  muster.     You  have  seen  Goggle  to-night." 

"  And  I  say,  Bill  Humphries,  tha.,  the  tongue  lies  that 
says  it,  though  it  never  lied  before.  Go — you're  a  foul- 
spoken  fellow,  and  your  bones  will  ache  yet  for  that 
same  speech.  Goggle — Goggle — Goggle  !  as  if  it 
wasn't  curse  enough  to  be  blear-eyed  without  having 
every  dirty  field-tackey  whickering  about  it." 

"  Our  object  is  not  to  offend,  my  good  woman,  but  to 
ask  a  civil  question.  My  companion  only  employs 
a  name  by  which  your  son  is  generally  distinguished 
among  the  people.  You  must  not  allow  him  to  anger 
you,  therefore,  but  answer  a  question  or  two  civilly, 
and  we  shall  leave  you." 

"  You  have  smooth  words,  captain,  and  I  know  what 
good-breeding  is.  I  have  lived  among  decent  people, 
and  I  know  very  well  how  to  behave  like  one  if  they 
would  let  me  ;  but  when  such  ill-spoken  creatures  as 
Bill  Humphries  ask  me  questions,  it's  ten  to  one  I 
don't  think  it  worth  while  to  answer  them  ;  and  answer 
I  will  not,  except  with  curses,  when  they  speak  nick- 
names for  my  child.  I  know  the  boy  is  ugly  and 
blear-:eyed.  I  kn.jw  that  his  skin  is  yellow  and  shriv- 
elled like  my  own,  but  he  has  suckled  at  these  withered 
paps,  and  he  is  my  child ;  and  the  more  others  hate 


THE    PARTISAN.  197 

and  abuse  him,  the  more  I  love  him — the  more  I  will 
take  up  for  him." 

"  Now,  Mother  Blonay,  you  needn't  make  such  a 
fuss  about  the  matter.  You  know  I  meant  no  harm. 
Confound  the  fellow,  I  don't  care  whether  he  has  eyes 
or  not ;  sure  I  am,  I  know  the  name  which  people 
give  him  without  minding  the  blear.  I  only  want  you 
to  say  what  you've  done  with  him." 

"  You  are  too  quick — too  violent,  Humphries,  with 
the  old  woman,"  said  Singleton  in  a  whisper. 

"  Major,  don't  I  know  her.  The  old  hag — I  see 
through  her  now,  jist  as  easy  as  I  ever  saw  through 
any  thing  in  my  life.  I'll  lay  now  she  knows  all 
about  the  skunk." 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  if  she  does,  this  is  not  the  way  to 
get  at  her  information." 

"  But  little  hope  of  that  now,  since  she's  got  her 
back  up.  Confound  Goggle  !  if  I  had  him  under  a 
stout  hickory  I  reckon  I'd  make  her  talk  to  another 
tune." 

This  was  loud  enough  for  the  old  woman,  who  re- 
plied— 

"  Yes — you'd  beat  with  blows  and  whips  a  far  better 
man  than  yourself.  But  go  your  ways,  and  see  what 
will  come  of  this  night's  work.  I  have  curses,  have  I  ? 
— if  I  have,  you  shall  hear  them.  I  have  a  bad  mouth, 
have  1 1 — you  shall  feel  it.  Hearken,  Bill  Humphries  ! 
I  am  old  and  weak,  but  I  am  strong  enough  to  come  to 
you  where  you  are,  and  whisper  in  your  ears.  As  what 
I  say  will  do  you  no  pleasure,  you  shall  hear  it." 

And,  tottering  forward  from  her  seat,  she  bent  down 
to  the  chair  upon  which  he  sat,  and  though  he  moved 
away  in  an  instant,  he  was  not  quick  enough  to  avoid 
the  momentary  contact  of  her  protruded  and  hag-like 
lip  with  his  ear,  that  shrunk  from  the  touch  as  with  an 
instinct  of  its  own.  She  whispered  but  two  words, 
and  they  were  loudly  enough  uttered  for  Singleton  to 
hear  as  well  as  Humphries.  "  Your  sister — Bella 
Humphries  !" 

The  trooper  started  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot ; 
R2 


198  THE    PARTISAN. 

Staggered  he  certainly  was,  and  his  eyes  glared  con- 
fusedly upon  those  which  she  piercingly  fixed  upon 
him  with  a  hellish  leer.  She  shook  her  long  bony 
finger  at  him,  and  her  body,  though  now  erect,  main- 
tained its  waving  motion  just  as  when  she  had  been 
seated.  Recovering  in  a  moment,  he  advanced,  ex- 
claiming— 

"  You  old  hag  of  hell !  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ? 
What  of  Bella  ]  what  of  my  sister  ?" 

"  Goggle — Goggle — Goggle — that  of  her  !  that  of 
her !"  was  all  the  reply  ;  and  this  was  followed  by  a 
low  chuckling  laugh,  which  had  in  it  something  exceed- 
ingly annoying  even  to  Singleton  himself.  The  trooper 
was  ferocious,  and  with  clenched  fist  seemed  about  to 
strike.  This,  when  she  saw,  seemed  to  produce  in 
her  even  a  greater  degree  of  resolution.  Instead  of 
shrinking,  she  advanced,  folded  her  arms  upon  her 
breast,  and  there  was  a  deep  organ-like  solemnity  in 
her  tone  as  she  exclaimed — 

"  Now  may  the  veins  dry  up,  and  the  flesh  wither, 
and  the  sinews  shrink,  and  the  marrow  leave  the 
bones !  Strike  the  old  woman,  now,  Bill  Humphries, 
• — strike,  if  you  dare  !" 

Singleton  had  already  passed  between  the  parties, 
not,  however,  before  he  had  been  able  to  see  the  pro- 
digious effect  which  her  adjuration  had  produced  upon 
the  trooper.  His  form  was  fixed  in  the  advancing 
position  in  which  he  stood  when  she  addressed  him. 
His  lips  were  colourless,  and  his  eyes  were  fastened 
upon  her  own  with  a  steadiness  which  was  that  of 
paralysis,  and  not  of  decision.  She,  on  the  other  hand, 
seemed  instinct  with  life — a  subtle,  concentrated  life. 
The  appearance  of  decrepitude  had  gone,  the  eye  had 
stronger  fire,  the  limbs  seemed  firm  on  the  instant,  and 
there  was  something  exceedingly  high  and  command- 
ing in  her  position.  A  moment  after,  she  sank  back 
in  her  chair  almost  exhausted — the  two  cats  purring 
around,  having  stood  at  her  side,  as  if  bent  to  co- 
operate in  her  defence,  on  the  first  approach  of  Hum- 
phries.   He  now  recovered  from  the  superstitious  awe 


THE    PARTISAN.  199 

which  had  momentarily  possessed  him ;  and  heartily 
ashamed  of  the  show  of  violence  to  which  her  mys- 
terious speech  had  provoked  him,  began  to  apologize 
for  it  to  Singleton. 

"  I  know  it's  wrong,  major,  and  I  wasn't  exactly  in 
mv  sober  senses,  or  I  wouldn't  have  done  it.  But 
there's  no  telling  how  she  provoked  rne  ;  and  the  fact 
is,  what  she  said  v\  orries  me  no  little  nov  ;  and  I 
must  know  what  she  meant. — I  say,  mother — JMother 
Blonay  !" 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  with  a  dull,  inexpres- 
sive glare,  that  seemed  to  indicate  the  smallest  possible 
degree  of  consciousness. 

"  She  is  now  exhausted,  and  cannot  understand  you  ; 
certainly  not  to  satisfy  your  inquiries,"  said  Singleton. 

The  trooper  made  one  or  two  efforts  more,  but  she 
refused  all  answer,  and  showed  her  determination  to 
be  silent  by  turning  her  face  from  them  to  the  wall. 
Finding  nothing  was  to  be  got  out  of  her,  Singleton 
placed  beside  her  upon  the  chair  a  note  of  the  conti- 
nental currency,  of  large  amount  but  for  its  depreciated 
value  ;  then,  without  more  words,  they  left  the  hovel  to 
its  wretched  tenant,  both  much  relieved  upon  emerging 
into  the  open  air.  The  severity  of  the  storm  had 
now  greatly  subsided ;  the  rain  still  continued  falling, 
however,  and,  hopeless  of  any  farther  discoveries  of 
the  fugitive  they  had  pursued,  and  as  ignorant  of  his 
character  as  at  first,  they  moved  onward,  rapidly 
pushing  for  their  bivouac  at  the  head  of  the  Stonoe. 


200  THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Commune  with  him,  and  fear  not.    Foul  though  he  be, 
Thy  destiny  is  kindred  with  his  own, 
And  that  secures  thee." 

They  had  scarcely  gone  from  sight,  when  Goggle 
entered  the  dwelling.  The  old  hag  started  from  her 
seeming  stupor,  and  all  her  features  underwent  a 
change.  She  foadled  upon  her  son  with  all  the  feeble 
drivelling  of  age ;  called  him  by  various  affectionate 
diminutives,  and  busied  herself,  in  spite  of  her  infirmi- 
ties, waddling  about  from  corner  to  corner  of  the  hut, 
to  administer  to  his  desires,  which  were  by  no  means 
few.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  manifested  the  most 
brutal  indifference  to  all  her  regards,  shook  her  off 
rudely  as  she  hung  upon  his  shoulders,  and,  with  a  bois- 
terous manner,  and  a  speech  coupled  with  an  oath, 
demanded  his  supper,  at  the  same  time  throwing  him- 
self, with  an  air  of  extreme  indolence,  along  the  bed. 

"  And,  Neddy  dear,  what  has  kept  you  so  late  1 
Where  have  you  been,  and  whence  come  you  last !" 
were  the  repeated  questions  of  the  old  woman. 

"  A'drat  it !  mother — will  you  never  be  done  asking 
questions  ?     It's  not  so  late,  Fm  sure." 

"  Later  than  you  said ;  much  later,  bv  two  hours, 

"Well,  if  it  is,  what  then  ?  It's  well  you  have  me 
at  all,  for  I've  had  a  narrow  chance  of  it.  Swow  !  but 
the  bullets  rung  over  my  ears  too  close  for  comfort." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Ned  !  What !  that  stark,  bull- 
head, Humphries,  has  he  shot  at  you,  Ned,  my  son?" 

"  Him  or  Singleton,  d — n  'em  !  But  I  have  a  hitch 
on  him  now  that  shall  swing  him.  He  plays  'possum 
no  longer  with  Huck,  if  you  have  a  tongue  in  your 
head,  mother." 


THE    PARTISAN.  201 

'«  Who— I  ?  What  am  I  to  do,  Ned,  boy  ?  Is  it  to 
put  Bill  Humphries  in  trouble  ?  If  it's  that,  I  have  the 
heart  to  do  it,  if  it's  only  for  his  talk  to-night." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  it." 

"  You  !     Why,  where  were  you,  Ned  ?" 

"  There."  He  pointed  to  the  end  of  the  hovel, 
where,  snugly  concealed  on  the  outside,  his  eye,  pier- 
cing through  a  hole  between  the  logs,  had  witnessed 
all  that  had  taken  place  in  the  apartment  while  the 
partisans  held  it. 

"  And  you  heard  and  saw  all  ?"  said  the  old  woman. 
"  You  heard  his  foul  speech,  and  you  saw  him  lift  his 
hand  to  strike  me  because  I  spoke  to  him  as  he  de- 
served !  But  he  dared  not — no,  he  dared  not !  But 
who  was  the  other,  Ned  ?" 

"  His  name's  Singleton,  and  he's  a  major  of  the  con- 
tinentals— that's  all  I  know  about  him.  He  took  me 
prisoner  with  some  others  of  Travis's,  and  I  joined  his 
troop,  rather  than  fare  worse.  This  gives  me  picking 
on  both  sides  ;  for  since  I've  joined  we've  had  smart 
work  in  skirmishing ;  and  down  at  Archdale  Hall  we 
made  a  splash  at  Huck's  baggage-wagons,  and  got  good 
spoil.  See,  here's  a  watch — true  gold  ! — was  this 
morning  in  a  red-coat's  fob,  's  now  in  mine." 

"  It's  good  gold,  and  heavy,  my  son  ; — will  give  you 
yellow-boys  enough." 

"Ay,  could  we  sell — but  that's  the  devil.  It  comes 
from  a  British  pocket,  and  we  can't  venture  to  offer  it 
to  any  of  their  colour.  As  for  the  continentals,  they 
haven't  got  any  but  their  ragged  currency,  and  that  no- 
body wants.  We  must  keep  the  watch  for  a  good 
chance,  for  that  and  other  reasons.  I  took  it  from  a 
prisoner  by  sleight  of  hand,  and  it  must  not  be  known 
that  I  have  it,  on  either  side.  Proctor  would  punish, 
and  the  young  fellow  Singleton,  who  has  an  eye  like  a 
hawk,  he  would  not  stop  to  give  me  a  swinging  bough 
if  he  thought  I  took  it  from  one  of  his  prisoners." 

"  Give  it  to  me,  boy ;  I'll  save  you  that  risk." 

"  You  shall  do  more,  mother ;  but  first  get  the  sup- 
per.    I'm  hellish  hungry,  and  tired  out  with  the  chaao 


202  THE    PARTISAN. 

I've  had.  A'drat  it !  my  bones  are  chilled  with  the 
mud  and  water." 

"  There's  a  change  in  the  chest,  boy,  beside  you. 
Put  the  wet  clothes  off." 

"  It's  too  troublesome,  and  they'd  only  get  wet  too  ; 
for  I  must  start  back  to  the  camp  directly." 

"  What  camp  ?" 

"  Singleton's — down  at  Slick  Ford  on  the  Stonoe 
head.  I  must  be  there,  and  let  him  see  me,  or  he'll 
suspicion  me,  and  move  off.  You  will  have  to  carry  the 
message  to  Proctor." 

"  What,  boy  !  will  you  go  back  and  put  your  neck 
in  danger?     Suppose  he  finds  you  missing?" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  him  the  truth,  so  far  as  the  truth  will 
answer  the  purpose  of  a  lie.  Fll  say  I  came  to  see 
you,  and,  having  done  so,  have  come  back  to  my  duty. 
They  cannot  find  fault,  for  the  troopers  every  now  and 
then  start  off  without  leave  or  license.  Fm  only  a  vol- 
unteer, you  see." 

"  Take  care,  boy  ;  you  will  try  the  long  lane  once 
too  often.  They  suspect  you,  now,  I  know  from  the 
askings  of  that  fellow  Humphries  ;  and  him  too,  the 
other — what's  his  name  ? — ^he,  too,  asked  closely  after 
you." 

"  Singleton.     I  heard  him." 

"  What  Singleton  is  that,  boy  ?  Any  kin  to  the 
Singletons  hereaway  in  St.  Paul's  ?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not.  He's  from  the  '  High  Hills,' 
they  say,  though  he  has  friends  at  '  The  Oaks.'  It 
was  there  he  went  to-night.  But  the  supper,  mother 
— is  it  all  ready  ?" 

"  Sit  and  eat,  boy.  There's  hoecake  and  bacon,  and 
some  cold  collards." 

"  Any  rum  ?"  he  inquired,  rising  sluggishly  from  the 
bed,  and  approaching  the  little  table  which,  while  the 
preceding  dialogue  had  been  going  on,  his  mother  had 
supplied  with  the  condiments  enumerated.  She  handed 
him  the  jug,  from  which,  undiluted,  he  drank  freely, 
following  the  stronger  liquid  with  a  moderate  draught 
from  the  gourd  of  water  which  she  handed  him  at  the 


THE    PARTISAN.  205 

same  moment.  While  he  ate,  he  muttered  occasionally 
to  his  mother,  who  hung  around  him  all  the  while  in 
close  attendance,  regarding  the  besmeared,  sallow,  and 
disfigured  wretch  with  as  much  affection  as  if  he  had 
been  the  very  choicest  of  all  God's  creatures.  Such 
is  the  heart,  erring  continually  in  its  appropriation  of 
sympathies,  which,  though  intrinsically  they  may  be 
valueless,  are  yet  singularly  in  proof  of  that  care  of 
nature,  which  permits  no  being  to  go  utterly  unblest  by 
its  regard,  and  denies  the  homestead,  however  lowly, 
none  of  its  soothing  and  its  sunshine. 

Goggle  had  eaten,  and  now,  like  a  gorged  snake, 
he  threw  himself  once  more  at  length  upon  the  couch 
that  stood  in  the  corner,  grumbling,  as  he  did  so — 

"  A'drat  it  !  I  hate  to  go  out  again  !  But  I  must — I 
must  go  back  to  camp,  to  blind  Singleton ;  and  as  for 
that  fellow  Humphries,  hear  you,  mother — I  was  in  the 
ditch  by  Coburn's  corner  when  he  came  upon  me,  and 
just  about  to  cross  it.  They  called  out,  and  crack, 
crack  went  their  pistols,  and  the  balls  both  times 
whizzed  close  above  my  head.  It  was  then  they  gave 
chase,  and  I  lay  close,  and  hugged  the  hollow.  Sin- 
gleton's horse  stood  right  across  me,  and  I  expected 
his  hoofs  every  moment  upon  my  back." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Neddy  !" 

"  Ay,  but  I  do — but  that's  not  it.  The  danger  was 
something,  to  be  sure,  but  even  then  I  could  listen — ^I 
could  listen — I  could  hear  all  they  said ;  and  I  had 
reason  to  listen,  too,  for  it  was  of  me  Humphries 
spoke.  The  keen  chap  suspected  me  to  be  the  man 
they  chased,  though  they  could  not  make  me  out ;  and 
so  he  spoke  of  me.  Can  you  count  up  what  he  said, 
mother?" 

"  No,  Neddy  ;  how  shoidd  I V 

"  What !  and  you  tell  fortunes,  too,  and  bewitch,  so 
that  all  of  them  call  you  cattle-charmer,  yet  you  can't 
tell  what  Bill  Humphries  spoke  about  then  !" 

"  No,  sure  not :  some  foul  speech,  I  reckon,  consid- 
ering he  spoke  it." 

"  Ay,  foul  speech  enough,  if  you  knew.     But  the 


204  THE    PARTISAN. 

long  and  short  of  it,  mother,  is  this,  and  I  put  the  ques- 
tion to  you  plainly,  and  expect  you  to  answer  plainly — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  son  ?" 

"  Ay,  that's  it — I'm  your  son,  I  believe  that ;  but  tell 
me,  and  tell  me  truly — who  was  my  father  ?  It  was 
of  that  that  Humphries  spoke.  He  spoke  for  all  the 
country  round,  and  something,  too,  I've  heard  of  be- 
fore. He  said  I  was  no  better  than  my  father ;  that  he 
was  a  horse-thief,  and,  what  was  worse,  that  I  had  a 
cross  in  my  blood.  Speak,  now,  mother — speak  out 
truly,  for  you  see  I'm  in  no  passion  ;  for,  whether  it's 
true  or  not,  I  will  have  it  out  of  him  that  spoke  it,  be- 
fore long,  some  way  or  other.  If  it's  true,  so  much 
the  worse  for  him,  for  I  can't  cut  your  throat,  mother 
— I  can't  drink  your  blood  ;  but  what  I  can  do,  I  will, 
and  that  is,  have  the  blood  of  the  man  that  knows  and 
speaks  of  your  misdoings." 

That  affectionate  tenderness  of  manner  which  she 
had  heretofore  shown  throughout  the  interview,  passed 
away  entirely  with  this  inquiry  of  Goggle.  She  was 
no  longer  the  mother  of  her  son.  A  haggard  scorn  was 
in  every  feature — a  hellish  revival  of  angry  passions, 
of  demoniac  hate,  and  a  phrensied  appetite.  As  she 
looked  upon  the  inquirer,  who,  putting  such  a  question, 
yet  lay,  and  seemingly  without  emotion,  sluggishly  at 
length  upon  the  couch,  her  ire  seemed  scarcely  re- 
strainable — her  figure  seemed  to  dilate  in  every  part — 
and,  striding  across  the  tloor  with  a  rapid  movement, 
hostile  seemingly  to  the  generally  enfeebled  appear- 
ance of  her  frame,  she  stood  directly  before,  and  looking 
down  upon  him — 

"  And  are  you  bent  to  hearken  to  such  foul  words 
of  your  own  mother,  bringing  them  home  to  my  ears, 
when  your  bullet  should  have  gone  through  the  head 
of  the  speaker  ?" 

"  All  in  good  time,  mother.  The  bullet  should  have 
gone  through  his  head  but  for  an  accident.  But  it's 
well  it  did  not.  He  would  have  died  then  in  a  moment. 
When  I  kill  him,  now,  he  shall  feel  himself  dying,  I 
warrant." 


THE    PARTISAN.  205 

"  It  is  well,  boy.  Such  a  foul  speaker  should  have 
a  death  of  terror — he  deserves  it.  " 

"  Ay,  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  mother, — • 
you  have  not  answered  my  question.  Speak  out ;  was 
I  born  lawfully  ?" 

"  Lawfully  ! — and  what  care  you,  Ned  Blonay,  about 
the  lawfulness  or  the  unlawfulness  of  your  birth — you 
who  hourly  fight  against  the  laws — who  rob,  who  burn, 
■who  murder,  whenever  a  chance  offers,  and  care  not  ? 
Is  it  not  your  pleasure  to  break  the  laws — to  live  on 
the  profits  and  the  property  of  others  ?  Whence  came 
the  purse  you  brought  here  last  week,  but  from  the 
red-coat  who  travelled  with  you  as  a  friend,  and  you, 
all  the  time,  receiving  pay  from  his  people  ?  Whence 
came  this  watch  you  just  now  put  into  my  hands, 
but  from  your  prisoner  ?  and  the  hog  of  which  you  ate 
for  supper,  your  own  rifle  shot  it  in  the  swamp,  although 
you  saw  the  double  fork  in  the  ear,  and  the  brand  on 
its  quarter,  which  told  you  it  belonged  to  Squire  Wal- 
ton, at '  The  Oaks  V — what  do  you  care  about  the  laws, 
then,  that  you  would  have  me  answer  your  question  ?" 

"  Nothing  ;  I  don't  care  that  for  all  the  laws  in  the 
country — not  that !  But  still  I  wish  to  know  the  truth 
of  this  matter.  It's  for  my  pleasure.  I  like  to  know 
the  truth  ;  Avhether  I  mind  it  or  not  is  another  thing." 

"  Your  pleasure,  boy — your  pleasure  !  and  what  if  I 
tell  you  that  Humphries  spoke  true — that  you  are — " 

"  A  bastard  !  speak  it  out — I  want  to  hear  it ;  and  it 
will  give  me  pleasure — Hove  that  which  provokes  me. 
I  can  smile  when  one  does  me  an  injury — smile  all  the 
time  I  bear  it  quietly,  for  I  think  of  the  time  when  I'm 
to  take  pay  for  it.  You  don't  understand  this,  perhaps, 
and  I  can't  give  you  any  reason  to  make  it  more  plain. 
But  so  I  do — and  when  Humphries  had  done  speaking, 
I  v/ould  have  given  something  handsome  to  have  had 
him  talk  it  over  again.  When  I  have  him  in  my  power, 
he  shall  do  so." 

"  The  Indian  blood  !"  was  the  involuntary  exclama- 
tion of  the  old  woman. 

"  Ha  !  what's  that,  mother  1" 

Vol.  I.— S 


206  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Ask  me  not." 

"  Ay,  but  I  will — I  must ;  and  hear  me  once  for  all 

— you  tell  me  the  truth,  on  the  instant,  or  you  never  see 

my  face  again.     I'll  go  to  the  Indies  with  Sir  Charles 

'  Montague,  that's  making  up  a  regiment  in  Charlestown 

for  that  country." 

"  Beware,  boy — ask  me  not — any  thing  else.  You 
will  hate  me  if  1  tell  you.     You  will  leave  me  for  ever." 

"No — don't  be  afraid.  Come,  speak  out,  and  say 
— was  my  father's  name  Blonay  ?" 

"  Blonay  was  my  lawful  husband,  boy,  when  you 
were  born,"  said  the  woman,  evasively. 

"  Ay,  that  may  be  well  enough,"  he  exclaimed,  "  yet 
I  be  no  son  of  his.  Speak  the  truth,  mother,  and  no 
two  bites  of  a  cherry.  Out  with  it  all — you  can't  vex 
me  by  telling  it.  Look  here — see  this  wound  on  my 
arm — when  it  begins  to  heal,  I  rub  it  until  it  unscars 
and  grows  red  and  angry  again.  I  like  the  pain  of  it. 
It's  strange,  I  know,  but  it's  my  pleasure  ;  and  so  I  look 
to  be  pleased  with  the  story  you  shall  tell  me.  Was 
Blonay  my  father  l" 

"  He  was  not." 

"  Good  ! — who  was  ?" 

"  Ask  no  more." 

"  Ay,  but  I  will — I  must  have  it  all — so  speak  on." 

"  I  will  not  speak  it  aloud — I  will  not.  I  have 
sworn  it." 

"  You  must  imswear  it.  I  cannot  be  trifled  with. 
You  must  tell  me  the  secret  of  my  birth,  and  all.  I 
care  not  how  dark,  how  foul,  how  unlawful — you  must 
suppress  nothing.  This  night  must  give  me  the  knowl- 
edge which  I  have  wanted  before — this  night  you  speak 
it  freely,  or  lose  me  for  ever." 

The  woman  paced  the  apartment  convulsively,  un- 
dergoing, at  every  moment,  some  new  transition,  from 
anger  and  impatience  to  entreaty  and  humbleness. 
Now  she  denounced  the  curiosity  of  her  son,  and  now 
she  implored  his  forgiveness.  But  she  cursed  or  im- 
plored in  vain.  He  lay  coolly  and  sluggishly,  utterly 
unmoved,  at  length,  upon  the  bed  ;  heedless  of  all  her 


THE    PARTISAN.  207 

words,  and  now  and  then  simply  assuring  her  that 
nothing  would  suffice  but  the  true  narrative  of  all  that  he 
wished  to  know.  Finding  evasion  hopeless,  the  old 
woman  seemed  to  recover  her  own  coolness  and 
strength  with  the  resolve  which  she  had  taken,  and 
after  a  little  pause  for  preparation,  she  began. 
»  "  Ned  Blonay,  it  is  now  twenty -nine  years  since  you 
were  born — " 

"  Not  quite,  mother,  not  quite, — twenty-eight  and 
some  seven  months.  Let's  see,  November,  you  re- 
member, was  my  birthday,  and  then  I  was  but  twenty- 
eight  ;  but  go  on,  it's  not  important — " 

"  Twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine,  it  matters  not  which 
— you  were  born  lawfully  the  son  of  John  Blonay,  and 
as  such  he  knew  and  believed  you.  Your  true  father 
was  an  Indian  of  the  Catawba  nation,  who  passed 
through  the  Cypress  the  year  before  on  his  way  to  the 
city." 

"  Go  on — the  particulars." 

"  Ask  not  that — not  that,  boy  ;   I  pray  ye — " 

"  All— all." 

"  I  will  not — I  cannot — it  was  my  badness.  I  will 
not  speak  it  aloud  for  worlds." 

"  Speak  it  you  must,  but  you  may  whisper  it  in  my 
ears.     Stoop — " 

She  did  so,  passively  as  it  were,  and  in  a  low  tone, 
broken  only  by  her  own  pauses  and  his  occasional 
exclamations,  she  poured  into  his  ear  a  dark,  foul 
narrative  of  criminal  intercourse,  provoked  on  her  part 
by  a  diseased  appetite,  resulting,  as  it  would  seem  in 
puni.shment,  in  the  birth  of  a  monster  like  himself. 
Yet  he  listened  to  it,  if  not  passively,  at  least  without 
any  show  of  emotion  or  indignation ;  and  as  she  fin- 
ished, and  hurrying  away  from  him  threw  herself  into 
her  old  seat,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  he 
simply  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  long  straight  black 
hair  depending  over  his  eyes,  which  seemed  to  carry 
confirmatory  evidence  enough  for  the  support  of 
the  story  to  which  he  had  listened.  He  made  no 
Other  movement,  but  seemed,  for  a  while,  busy  in  reflec- 


208  THE    PARTISAN. 

tion.  She  every  now  and  then  looked  towards  him 
doubtfull)'',  and  with  an  aspect  which  had  in  it  some- 
thing of  apprehension.  At  length,  rising,  though  with 
an  air  of  effort,  from  his  couch,  he  took  a  paper 
from  his  pocket  which  he  studied  a  little  while  by  the 
blaze  in  the  chimney,  then  approaching  her,  he  spoke 
in  language  utterly  unaffected  by  what  he  had  heard — 

"  Hark  ye,  mother:  I  shall  now  go  back  to  the  camp. 
It's  something  of  a  risk,  but  nothing  risk,  nothing  gain ; 
and  if  I  run  a  risk,  it's  for  something.  I  go  back  to  blind 
Singleton,  for  I  shall  tell  him  all  the  truth  about  my 
coming  here.  He  won't  do  any  thing  more  than  scold 
a  little,  for  the  thing's  common  ;  but  if  he  should — " 

"  What,  my  son  1 — speak  !" 

"  No,"  he  inuUered  to  himself,  "  no  danger  of  that — 
he  dare  not.  But  you  come,  mother, — come  to  Slick 
Ford  by  sunrise,  and  see  what  you  can.  You'll  be  able 
to  prove  I  was  with  you  after  the  storm,  and  that'll  clear 
me  ;  then  you  can  go  to  Dorchester,  make  all  haste,  and 
with  this  paper,  see  Proctor,  and  put  it  in  his  own 
hands  yourself.  There's  some  news  in  it  he  will  bs 
glad  to  pay  for.  It  tells  him  something  about  the  camp  ; 
and  that  about  Col.  Walton,  shall  make  him  fly  from 
'  The  Oaks,'  as  an  old  owl  from  the  burning  cypress. 
You  can  also  tell  him  what  you  see  at  Singleton's,  and  so 
use  your  eyes  when  you  come  there.  Mind,  too,  if  you 
see  Huck  or  any  of  his  men,  keep  dark.  He  would 
chouse  you  out  of  all  the  pay,  and  get  the  guineas  for 
himself;  and  you  might  whistle  for  your  share." 

He  gave  her  a  dirty  paper  as  he  spoke,  in  which  he 
had  carefully  noted  down  every  particular  relating  to  his 
new  service,  the  force,  the  deeds,  and  the  camp  of 
Singleton — all  that  he  thought  would  be  of  value  to  the 
enemy.  She  heard  him,  but  did  not  approve  of  his 
return  to  the  camp.  The  conference  with  Singleton 
and  Humphries,  together  with  the  undisguised  hostility 
of  the  latter,  had  tilled  her  mind  with  troublesome  ap- 
prehensions ;  and  she  warned  her  son  accordingly  ;  but 
he  took  little  heed  of  her  counsel. 

"  I'm  bent  upon  it,  mother,  for  it's  a  good  business. 


THE    PARTISAN.  209 

You  come — that's  all,  and  say  when  and  where  you've 
seen  me  to-night.  Come  soon — by  smirise,  and  I'll 
get  off  clear,  and  stand  a  better  chance  of  being 
trusted  by  the  commander." 

"  And  Bill  Humphries  ?" 

"  Ah  !  he  must  have  his  swing.  Let  him.  The  dog 
swallows  his  legs  at  last,  and  so  will  he.  I  only  wait 
the  time,  and  shall  then  shut  up  his  mouth  in  a  way  shall 
be  a  lesson  to  him  fcr  ever — in  a  way  he  shan't  forget, 
and  shan't  remember.     He  shall  feel  me  before  long." 

"  And  he  shall  feel  me  too,  the  reprobate  ;  he  shall 
know  that  I  have  a  power,  though  he  laughs  at  it." 

"  A'drat  it,  but  its  dark,  mother  ;  a  thick  cloud's  yet 
over  the  moon,  and  but  a  sloppy  path  for  a  shy  foot, 
but  it  must  be  done.  There's  some  old  hound  yelp- 
ing yonder  in  the  woods  ;  he  don't  like  being  out  any 
more  than  myself." 

"  You  will  go,  Ned  !"  and  the  old  woman's  hand  was 
on  his  shoulder.  He  shoved  it  off  with  something  of 
hurry,  while  he  answered — 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  be  sure  you  come,  and  when  you 
have  helped  me  out  of  the  scrape,  go,  off-hand,  to 
Proctor.  See  him — don't  let  them  put  you  off.  He 
will  pay  well  and  not  chouse  you,  for  he's  a  true  gen- 
tleman.    Good-night — good-night." 

She  watched  him  from  the  doorway  until  he  was 
completely  lost  from  sight  in  the  adjacent  forest. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

"  Oh  cruel !  and  the  shame  of  such  a  wound, 
Makes  in  the  heart  a  deeper  gash  than  all 
It  made  upon  the  form." 

Singleton  and  Humphries  were  hailed  as  they  ap- 
proached the  patrols,  by  the  voice  of  Lance  Frampton, 
the  younger  sou  of  the  maniac.     He  had  volunteered 


210  THE    PARTISAN. 

to  fill  the  post  which  had  been  deserted  by  Goggle. 
He  told  them  of  his  absence,  and  was  gratified  by 
receiving  from  his  commander  a  brief  compliment 
upon  his  precision  and  readiness.  Such  approval  was 
grateful  to  the  boy,  coming  from  Singleton  ;  for  the 
gentle  manner  of  the  Ifter  had  already  won  greatly 
on  his  affections.  The  boy,  though  but  fifteen,  was 
manly  and  fearless,  full  of  ambition,  and  very  prom- 
ising. He  rode  well,  and  could  use  his  rifle  already 
with  the  best  shots  of  the  country.  The  unsettled  life 
of  the  partisan  warrior  did  not  seem  to  disagree  with 
his  tender  years,  so  far  as  he  had  already  tried  it ;  and  his 
cheerless  fortunes,  indeed,  almost  denied  him  the  choice 
of  any  other.  Still,  though  manly  in  most  respects, 
something  of  sadness  rested  upon  his  pale  counte- 
nance, which  was  soft  like  that  of  a  girl,  and  quite 
unlike  the  bronzed  visages  common  to  the  sunny  region 
in  which  he  had  been  born  and  lived.  In  addition  to 
the  leading  difference  between  himself  and  the  people 
of  his  own  condition  around  him,  his  tastes  were  nat- 
urally fine,  his  feelings  delicate  and  susceptible,  his 
impressions  acute  and  lasting.  He  inclined  to  Major 
Singleton  intuitively,  as  the  manly  freedom,  and  ease 
of  deportment,  for  which  his  commander  was  distin- 
guished, were  mingled  with  a  grace,  gentleness,  and 
pleasant  propriety,  to  which  his  owi»  nature  insensibly 
beguiled  him.  He  saluted  them,  as  we  have  already 
said,wUh  becoming  modesty,  unfolded  his  intelligence, 
and  then  quietly  sank  back  to  his  position. 

Humphries  did  not  seem  much  surprised  at  the 
mtelligence. 

"As  I  expected,"  he  said;  "  it's  the  nature  of  the 
beast.  The  fellow  was  a  born  skunk,  and  he  will  die 
one.  There's  no  mending  that  sort  of  animal,  major, 
and  there's  little  use,  and  some  danger,  to  waste  time 
on  it." 

"  How  long  is  it,  Lance,  since  his  departure  became 
known  to  Lieutenant  Davis  ?"  was  the  inquiry  of  Sin- 
gleton. 

"Not  a  half-hour,  sir.     When   Lieutenant  Davis 


THE    FARTISAK".  '211 

•WBirt  the  i-ounds,  sir,  to  relieve  him,  the  place  was 
-empty,  and  he  said  Goggle  must  have  gone  before 
the  storm  came  up." 

"  Had  you  the  storm  here,  Lance  ?"  inquired  Hum- 
phries. 

"  Not  much  of  it,  sir.  It  swept  more  to  the  left, 
and  must  have  been  heavy  where  it  went,  for  the  roaring 
of  the  wind  was  louder  here  than  it  felt.  The  trees 
doubled  a  little,  but  didn't  give — only  some  that  had  the 
hearts  eaten  out.  They  went  down,  sir,  at  the  first 
push  of  the  hurricane." 

Singleton  conferred  briefly  Vv^ith  Humphries,  and 
then  despatched  the  boy  to  Davis,  with  instructions  to 
place  the  party  in  moving  order  by  sunrise — ^^the  two 
officers,  riding  more  slowly  in  the  same  direction,  con- 
ferred upon  future  arrangements. 

"  That  fellow's  absence,  Humphries,  will  compel  us 
to  change  our  quarters,  for  his  only  object  must  be  to 
carry  the  news  to  Dorchester." 

"  That's  it,  for  certain,  major  ;  and  the  sooner  we 
move  the  better.  By  midday  to-morrow.  Proctor  and 
Huck,  and  the  whole  of  'em  would  be  on  our  haunches, 
and  we  only  a  mouthful.  A  start  by  the  time  the  sun 
squints  on  the  pine  tops,  sir,  would  do  no  harm;  and 
then,  if  you  move  up  to  Moultrie's  old  camp  at  Bacon's 
bridge,  it  will  be  far  enough  to  misguide  them  for  the 
present.  From  the  bridge,  you  see,  you  can  make  the 
swamp  almost  at  any  moment,  and  yet  it's  not  so  far 
but  you  can  get  to  '  The  Oaks'  soon  as  ever  Proctor 
turns  back  upon  Dorchester." 

"  What  force  has  he  there,  think  you  ?" 

"  Not  enough  to  go  far,  sir,  or  stay  out  long.  The 
garrison's  but  slim,  and  Huck  is  for  the  up  country,  I 
heard  him  say.  He  may  give  you  a  drive  before  he 
goes,  for  he  is  mighty  ready  to  please  Proctor ;  but 
then  he  goes  by  Monk's  corner,  and  so  on  up  to  Nel- 
son's ferry  ;  and  it  will  be  out  of  his  way  to  set  upon 
you  at  Moultrie's." 

"  Why  does  he  take  that  route,  when  his  course  is 
for  the  Catawba  ?" 


212  THE    PARTI &AW- 

"  Ha !  sir,  you  don't  know  Huck.  He's  an  oW 
scout,  and  knows  where  the  best  picking  lies.  H« 
goes  along  that  route,  sir,  skimming  it  like  so  much 
cream  as  he  goes  ;  and  wo  to  the  housekeeper,  loyalist 
or  whig,  that  gives  him  supper,  and  shows  him  too 
much  plate.  Huck  loves  fine  things ;  and  for  that 
matter,  plunder  of  any  kind  never  goes  amiss  with  a 
tory." 

"  True ;  and  the  course  he  takes  through  Sumter, 
gives  him  spoil  enough,  if  he  dares  touch  it ;  but 
Marion  will  soon  be  at  Nelson's,  where  we  hope  to 
meet  him.  Let  us  ride  on  now,  and  see  to  our  move- 
ment." 

"  With  your  leave,  now,  major,  111  go  back  to  Dor- 
chester." 

"With  what  object?" 

"  Why,  sir,  only,  as  one  may  say,  to  curse  and  quit. 
That  rascal  Goggle  will  be  in  Proctor's  quarters  by 
daylight,  and  will  soon  have  a  pretty  story  for  the 
colonel.  I  must  try  and  get  there  before  him,  so  as  to 
stop  a  little  the  blow.  Since  it  must  come,  it  needn'i 
come  on  anybody's  head  but  mine  ;  and  if  I  can  keep 
my  old  father  from  trap,  why,  you  see,  sir,  it's  my 
born  duty  to  do  so." 

"  How  will  you  do  that  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  sir.  Dad  shall  go  to  Proctor  before 
Goggle,  and  shall  denounce  me  himself.  He  shall 
make  something  out  of  the  Englishman  by  his  loyalty, 
and  chouse  Goggle  at  the  same  time.  Besides,  sir,  he 
will  be  able  to  tell  a  truer  story,  for  he  shall  say  that 
we've  gone  from  the  Stonoe,  which,  you  know,  will 
be  the  case  by  that  time.  So,  if  he  looks  for  us  there, 
as  Goggle  will  advise  mm,  the  old  man  will  stand 
better  than  ever  in  the  good  graces  of  the  enemy ; 
and  will  be  better  able  to  give  us  intelligence,  and 
help  our  cause." 

"  But  will  your  father  like  such  a  mission  ?" 

"  Like  it,  major !  why,  aint  I  his  son — his  only 
son — and  won't  he  do,  think  you,  what  I  ask  him  ?  ^% 
be  sure  he  will.     You  will  see." 


't' 


THE    PARTISAN.  213 

"  The  plan  is  good,  and  reminds  me  of  Pry  or.  You 
will  see  him,  and  hurry  his  recruiting".  Say  to  him, 
from  me,  how  much  Col.  Marion  expects  from  him,  as, 
indeed,  the  letter  I  gave  him  has  already  persuaded 
him.  Remind  him  of  that  letter,  and  let  him  read  it 
to  you.  .  This  will  please  him,  and  prompt  to  new 
efforts,  should  he  prove  dull.  But  let  him  be  quiet — ■ 
nothing  impatient,  till  Colonel  Walton  is  prepared  to 
start.  Only  keep  in  readiness,  and  wait  the  signal. 
For  yourself,  when  you  have  done  this,  delay  nothing, 
and  risk  nothing  in  Dorchester.  You  have  no  plea  if 
found  out ;  and  they  will  hang  you  off-hand  as  soon  as 
taken.  Follow  to  Bacon's  bridge  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  if  you  find  me  not  there,  I  am  either  in  the  swamp, 
or  in  the  south  towards  the  Edisto  ;  possibly  on  the 
road  to  Parker's  ferry.  I  wish  to  keep  moving  to  baffle 
any  pursuit." 

Protracted  but  little  longer,  and  only  the  better  to 
perfect  their  several  plans,  the  conference  was  at 
length  concluded,  and  the  two  separated  ;  the  one  pro- 
ceeding to  his  bivouac,  and  the  other  on  his  journey 
of  peril,  along  the  old  track  leading  to  the  bridge  of 
Dorchester. 

Singleton  had  scarcely  resumed  command  of  his 
squad  before  the  fugitive  Ciroggle  stood  before  him, 
with  a  countenance  cold  and  impassive  as  ever,  and 
with  an  air  of  assurance  the  most  easy  and  self-satis- 
fied. The  eye  of  the  partisan  was  concentrated  upon 
him  with  a  searching  glance,  sternly  and  calmly,  but 
he  shrunk  not  beneath  it. 

"  You  have  left  your  duty,  sir — your  post ;  what 
have  you  to  say  V 

The  offender  frankly  avowed  his  error,  but  spoke 
in  extenuation- 

"  The  storm  was  coming  up,  sir  ;  nobody  was  going 
to  trouble  us,  and  I  thought  a  little  stretch  to  the  old 
woman — my  mother,  sir,  that  is — would  do  no  harm." 

"  You  were  wrong,  sir,  and  must  be  punished. 
Your  duty  was  to  obey,  not  to  think.  Lieutenant 
Davis,  a  corporal's  guard  !" 


214  THE    PARTISAN. 

Goggle  looked  somewhat  astounded  at  this  prompt 
movement,  and  urged  the  measure  as  precipitate  and 
unusual. 

"  But,  major,  the  troopers  go  off  continually  from 
Col.  Washington's  troop,  when  they  want  to  see  their 
families — " 

"  The  greater  the  necessity  of  arresting  it  in  ours  ; 
but  you  will  make  your  plea  at  morning,  for  with  the 
sunrise  you  shall  be  examined." 

The  guard  appeared,  and  as  the  torch  flamed  above 
the  head  of  the  fugitive,  Singleton  ordered  him  to  be 
searched  narrowly.  With  the  order,  the  ready  soldiers 
seized  upon  and  bound  him.  His  rifle  was  withdrawn 
from  his  grasp — a  measure  inexpressibly  annoying  t» 
the  offender,  as  it  was  a  favourite  weapon,  and  he  an 
excellent  shot  with  it.  In  the  close  search  which  he 
underwent,  his  knife,  and,  indeed,  everything  in  his> 
possession,  was  carefully  withdrawn,  and  he  had  reason 
to  congratulate  himself  upon  the  timely  delivery  of 
the  stolen  watch  to  his  mother  ;  for  the  prisoner  from 
whom  it  had  been  taken  had  already  announced  its 
loss :  and  had  it  been  found  upon  the  thief,  it  would 
have  been  matter,  under  the  stern  policy  pursued  by 
Singleton,  for  instantly  hurrying  him  to  some  one  of 
the  thousand  swinging  boughs  overhead.  With  the 
clear  daylight,  a  court  martial  at  the  drum-head  sat  in 
judgment  on  the  prisoner.  He  told  his  story  with  a 
composure  that  would  have  done  credit  to  innocence. 
There  was  no  contradiction  in  his  narrative.  Sin- 
gleton proposed  sundry  questions. 

'■'Why  did  you  not  stand  when  called  to  T' 

"  I  was  but  one,  major,  and  you  were  two  ;  and 
when  the  British  and  tories  are  thick  about  us,  it 
stands  to  reason  that  it  was  them  calling.  I  didn't 
make  out  your  voice." 

"  And  why  did  you  not  proceed  directly  to  your 
mother's  ?  why  let  so  much  time  elapse  between  the 
pursuit  and  your  appearance  at  her  cabin  ?" 

"  I  lay  close  after  they  had  gone,  major,  for  I  dida*^ 
know  that  they  had  done  looking  after  meJ' 


THE    PARTISAN.  215 

iPronipt  and  ready  were  his  several  responses,  and, 
fepart  from  the  initial  offence  of  leaving  his  post, 
nothing  could  be  ascertained  calculated  to  convict 
him  of  any  other  error.  In  the  mean  time  he  ex- 
hibited no  more  interest  in  the  scene  than  in  the  most 
ordinary  matt-er.  One  side  of  his  body,  as  was  its 
wont,  rested  upon  the  other  ;  one  leg  hung  at  ease, 
and  his  head,  sluggish  like  the  rest  of  his  person,  was 
bent  over,  so  as  to  lie  on  his  left  shoulder.  At  this 
stage  of  the  proceedings,  his  mother,  whose  anxieties 
had  been  greater  on  the  subject  than  those  of  her  son, 
now  made  her  appearance,  tottering  towards  the 
group  with  a  step  in  which  energy  and  feebleness 
were  strangely  united.  Her  first  words  were  those  of 
reproach  to  Singleton  : — 

"  Now,  wherefore,  gentleman,  do  you  bind  the  boy  ? 
Is  it  because  he  loves  the  old  woman,  his  own  mother  ? 
Oh,  for  shame  !  it's  a  cruel  shame  to  do  so  !  Will  you 
not  loose  the  cord?" 

She  hobbled  over  to  the  place  where  her  son  stood 
alone,  and  her  bony  fingers  were  for  a  moment  busied 
with  the  thongs,  as  if  she  strove  to  release  him.  The 
prisoner  himself  twisted  from  her,  and  his  repulse  was 
not  confined  to  his  action. 

"  A'drat  it,  mother !  have  done.  Say  it  out  what  you 
know,  and  done  with  it." 

"  What  can  you  say,  dame,  in  this  matter?"  inquired 
Singleton. 

"  It's  my  son  you  tie  with  ropes — it's  a  good  son  to 
rae — will  you  not  loose  him  f 

"  He  has  done  wrong,  dame  ;  he  has  left  his  post, 
and  has  neglected  his  duty." 

"  He  came  to  see  his  mother — his  old  mother  ;  to 
bring  her  comfort,  for  he  had  been  long  away,  and  she 
looked  for  him — she  thought  he  had  had  wrong.  Was 
there  harm  in  this  ?" 

"  None,  only  as  he  had  other  duties,  not  less  impor- 
tant, which  he  sacrificed  for  it.  But  say  what  you 
know." 

She  did  so,  and   confirmed  his   story ;  was  heard 


216  THE    PARTISAN. 

patiently  through  a  somewhat  tedious  narrative,  m 
which  her  own  feelings,  and  a  strange  show  of  love- 
for  the  indifferent  savage,  were  oddly  blended  with  the 
circumstances  which  she  told.  Though  unavailing  to 
save  him  from  punishment,  the  evidence  of  his  mother^ 
and  her  obvious  regard,  had  the  effect  of  modifying  its 
severity.  The  court  found  him  guilty,  and  sen- 
tenced him  to  the  lash.  Twenty  lashes,  and  an  im- 
prisonment in  the  discretion  of  the  commander,  were 
decreed  as  his  punishment. 

Along  howl — a  shriek  of  demoniac  energy— from  the 
old  woman,  as  she  heard  the  doom,  rung  in  the  ears 
of  the  party.  Her  long  skinny  finger  was  uplifted  in 
vain  threatenings,  and  her  lips  moved  in  vague  adjura- 
tions and  curses.  Singleton  regretted  the  necessity 
which  made  him  sanction  the  decree,  but  example  was 
necessary  in  the  lax  state  of  discipline  at  that  time 
prevailing  tliroughout  the  country.  Marion,  who  wa& 
himself  just  and  inflexible,  had  made  him  a  disciplin- 
arian. 

"  You  will  not  say  '  Yes'  to  this,"  cried  the  old 
woman  to  Singleton.  "  You  are  a  gentleman,  and 
your  words  are  kind.     You  will  forgive  the  boy." 

"I  dare  not,  dame.  The  punishment  is  already 
slight  in  comparison  with  that  usually  given  for  an 
offence  so  likely  to  be  fatal  as  this  of  which  your  son^ 
has  been  guilty.     He  must  submit." 

The  old  woman  raved  furiously,  but  her  son  rebuked 
her.  His  eyes  were  thrown  up  obliqitely  to  the  com- 
mander, and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  that  of  a 
sneaking  defiance,  as  he  rudely  enough  checked  her 
in  her  denunciations. 

"  Hold  tongue,  mother — a'd?at  it !  Can't  you  thank 
the  gentlemen  for  their  favoar  ?" 

A  couple  of  soldiers  strapped  him  up  ;  when,  having 
first  taken  off  his  outer  jacket,  one  of  them,  with  a 
Gommon  wagon-whip,  prepared  to  execute  the  sentence, 
while  the  old  woman,  almost  in  danger  from  the  lash^ 
pressed  closely  to  the  criminal,  now  denouncing  and 
HOW  imploring  the  court ;  at  one  moment  abusing  her 


The  partisan.  21? 

son  for  his  folly  in  returning  to  the  camp,  and  the  next, 
with  salt  tears  running  down  her  withered  cheeks, 
seeking  to  sooth  and  condole  with  him  in  his  sufferings. 
They  would  have  removed  her  from  the  spot  before  the 
punishment  began,  but  she  threw  herself  upon  the  earth 
when  they  attempted  it,  and  would  only  rise  when 
they  forbore  the  effort.  He,  the  criminal,  was  as  im- 
passive as  ever.  Nothing  seemed  to  touch  him,  either 
in  the  punishment  he  was  to  receive,  or  the  agonizing 
sensations  which  he  witnessed  in  his  mother,  and 
which  were  all  felt  in  his  behalf^  He  helped  the  sol- 
diers to  remove  his  vest,  and  readily  turned  his  back 
towards  them,  while,  obliquely  over  his  shoulder,  his 
huge  staring  eyes  were  turned  to  the  spot  where  Sin- 
gleton stood,  with  glance  averted  from  the  scene  of 
ignominy. 

The  first  stroke  was  followed  by  a  piercing  shriek 
from  the  old  woman — a  bitter  shriek  and  a  curse  ;  but 
with  tha   stroke  she  began  counting  the  blows. 

"  One" — "  two" — her  enumeration  perpetually  bro- 
ken by  exclamations  of  one  sort  or  another — now  of 
pity,  now  of  horror,  denunciation,  and  the  most  impotent 
expressions  of  paralytic  rage — in  son^e  such  phrases  as 
the  following  : — "The  poor  boy! — his  mother  never 
whipped  him  ! — they  will  murder  him  ! — two — for 
he  came  to  see  her — three — was  ever  the  like  to 
whip  a  son  for  this  ! — four — God  curse  them  !  God 
curse  them  ! — five — I  can  curse,  too,  that  I  can — they 
shall  feel  me,  they  shall  hear  me  ! — six,  seven — that 
is  eight — nine.  Oh,  the  wretches  !  but  bear  up,  Ned, 
bear  up — it  is  half  over — that  is  ten — my  poor  boy  ! 
Oh,  do  not  strike  so  hard !  Look !  the  red  on  the 
shirt — it  is  blood !  Oh,  wretches  !  have  you  no 
mercy  1 — it  is  most  done — there,  there — stop  !  Hell 
blast  you  for  ever  ! — that  was  twenty.  Why  did  you 
strike  another  1  1  cxirse  you  with  a  black  curse  for 
that  other  stroke  !  You  ragged  imp  ! — you  vile  pole- 
cat ! — I  curse  you  for  that  stroke  !" 

The  execution  was  over.  Unflinching  to  the  last, 
though  the  strokes  were  severely  dealt,  the  criminal 

Vol.  I.— T 


218  THE    PARTISAN. 

had  borne  them.  He  looked  the  very  imbodiment  of 
callosity.  His  muscles  were  neither  composed  nor 
rigid  during  the  operation  ;  and  though  the  flesh  evi- 
dently felt,  the  mood  of  the  wretch  seemfed  to  have' 
undergone  no  change.  Before  he  could  yet  be  freed 
from  the  cords,  his  mother's  arms  were  thrown  around 
him  ;  and  though  he  strove  to  shake  her  oflT,  and  shrunk 
from  her  embraces,  yet  she  persisted,  and,  with  a  child- 
ish fondness,  she  strove,  with  kind  words,  while  help- 
ing him  on  with  his  jacket,  to  console  him  for  his 
sufTeringg. 

*'  And  you  will  go  with  me  now,  Neddy— you  will 
go  from  these  cruel  men  ?" 

"  I  cannot,  mother ;  don't  you  know  I'm  to  be  under 
guard  so  long  as  the  major  chooses  V 

"  He  will  not — you  will  not  tie  him  again  ;  you  will 
let  him  go  now  with  his  mother." 

She  turned  to  Singleton  as  she  spoke  ;  but  his  eye 
refused  her  ere  his  tongue  replied — 

"  He  will  be  in  custody  for  twelve  hours ;  and  let 
me  say  to  you,  dame,  that  for  such  an  offence  his  pun- 
ishment is  a  very  slight  one.  Marion's  men  would 
suffer  two  hundred  lashes,  and  something  more  re- 
straint, for  the  same  crime." 

"  God  curse  him  !"  she  said,  bitterly,  as  she  again 
approached  her  son,  with  whom  she  conversed  apart. 
He  whispered  but  a  word  in  her  ear,  and  then  turned 
away  from  her  ;  she  looked  after  him  a  moment,  as 
the  guard  marched  him  into  the  rear,  but  her  finger 
was  uplifted  towards  Singleton,  and  the  fierce  fire 
shooting  out  from  her  gray  eye,  and  moving  in  the 
direction  of  the  pointed  finger,  was  long  after  remem- 
bered by  him.  In  a  few  moments  more,  she  was 
gone  from  the  camp,  and,  with  a  degree  of  elasticity 
scarcely  comporting  with  her  years,  was  trudging  fast 
on  her  way  to  Dorchester. 

Waiting  until  she  had  fairly  departed,  Singleton  at 
length  left  his  lodge  on  the  Stonoe,  and  leaving  no  trace 
of  his  sojourn  but  the  dying  embers  of  his  fires,  he  led 
the  way  towards  the  designated  encampment  at  Bacon's 


THE    PARTISAN.  219 

Bridge.  This  was  a  few  miles  above  Dorchester,  on 
the  same  river,  and  immediately  contiguous  to  the  Cy- 
press Swamp.  An  old  battery  and  barracks,  built  by 
General  Moultrie,  and  formerly  his  station,  prior  to  the 
siege  of  Charlestown,  furnished  a  much  more  comfort- 
able place  of  abode  than  that  which  he  had  just  vaca- 
ted. Here  he  took  that  repose  Avhich  the  toils  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  rendered  absolutely  necessary. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

"  Let  her  pulse  beat  a  stroke  the  more  or  less 
And  she  were  blasted.  I  will  stand  by  this ; 
My  judgment  is  her  fear." 

Leaving  Singleton  as  we  have  seen,  as  soon  as  the 
absence  of  Goggle  from  camp  was  certainly  known, 
Humphries  hurried  on  his  returning  route  to  the  village 
of  Dorchester.  Cool  and  calculating,  but  courageous, 
the  risk  which  he  ran  was  far  from  inconsiderable. 
How  could  he  be  sure  he  was  not  already  suspected ; 
how  know  that  some  escaping  enemies  had  not  seen 
and  given  intelligence  of  his  presence  among  the 
I'ebels  ;  and  why  should  not  the  fugitive  be  already  in 
the  garrison  with  Proctor  preparing  the  schemes  which 
were  to  wind  about  and  secure  him  1  These  questions 
ever  rose  in  his  mind  as  he  surveyed  his  situation 
and  turned  over  his  own  intentions  ;  but  though  strong 
enough  as  doubts,  they  were  not  enough  to  turn  him 
from  a  purpose  which  he  deemed  good  and  useful,  if 
not  absolutely  necessary.  He  dismissed  them  from 
his  thoughts,  therefore,  as  fast  as  they  came  up.  He 
was  a  man  quite  too  bold,  too  enterprising  to  be  dis- 
couraged and  driven  from  his  plans  by  mere  suggestions 
of  risk ;  and  whistling,  as  he  went,  a  merry  tune,  he 
dashed  forward  through  the  woods,  and  was  soon  out 
of  the  bush  and  on  the  main  road  of  the  route — not 


220  THE    PARTISAN. 

far  from  the  spot  where,  in  the  pause  of  the  storm,  they 
had  stumbled  upon  the  half-blood,  Blonay. 

The  tree  which  the  lightning  had  stricken  just  beside 
the  path,  was ,  still  in  flame.  The  rain  could  not 
quench  it,  as  the  rich  lightwood,  traced  through  every 
cavity  of  the  bark  by  the  greedy  fire,  furnished  a  fuel 
pot  easily  extinguishable.  The  flame  licked  along  the 
sides,  at  intervals,  splotchlike,  up  and  down,  from  top 
to  trunk  ;  at  one  moment,  lost  from  one  place — the  next, 
furiously  darting  upon  another.  Its  blaze  showed  him 
the  track  through  the  hollow  to  old  Mother  Blonay's, 
and,  as  he  beheld  it,  a  sudden  desire  prompted  him 
once  more  to  look  into  the  dwelling  of  the  old  woman. 
He  was  strangely  fascinated  in  this  direction,  particu- 
larly as  he  remembered  the  equivocal  nature  of  the 
threat  which  she  had  screamed  in  his  ear  in  regard  to 
his  sister.  "  Goggle,  Goggle,  Goggle !"  A  shiver 
ran  through  his  frame  as  he  thought  upon  it. 

Alighting  from  his  horse,  he  approached  the  hovel, 
hitched  the  animal  to  a  hanging  bough,  and,  with 
as  light  a  footstep  as  possible,  quietly  approached 
the  entrance.  Peeping  through  an  aperture  between 
the  loose  logs  he  gazed  upon  the  inmate.  There,  still 
in  her  seat  beside  the  fireplace,  she  kept  up  the  same 
croning  movement,  to  and  fro,  maintaining  her  balance 
perfectly,  yet  fast  asleep  all  the  while.  Sometimes 
her  rocking  would  be  broken  with  a  start,  but  sleep 
had  too  far  possessed  her ;  and  though  her  dog  barked 
once  or  twice  at  the  approach  of  the  stranger,  the 
interruption  in  her  seesaw  was  but  for  a  moment,  and 
an  incoherent  murmur  indistinctly  uttered,  only  pre- 
ceded her  relapse  into  silence  and  slumber  as  before. 
Beside  her  lay  her  twin  cats — twin  in  size  though  not 
in  colour — a  monstrous  pair  whose  sleep  emulated  that 
of  their  mistress.  On  a  bench  before  her,  clearly 
distinguishable  in  the  firelight,  Humphries  noted  her 
travelling  bundle  with  a  staff"  run  through  it.  This 
indicated  her  itinerant  habits,  and  his  conclusion  was, 
that  the  old  hag,  who  wandered  usually  from  plantation 
to  plantation,  from  hovel  to  hovel,  pretending  to  cure  or 


THE    PARTISAN.  221 

charm  away  disease,  and  taking  large  collections  in 
return  from  the  charitable,  the  ignorant  and  superstitious 
alike — had  made  her  preparations  for  an  early  journey 
in  the  morning.  While  he  looked,  his  own  supersti- 
tious fancies  grew  active  ;  and,  a  cold  shiver  which  he 
could  not  escape,  but  of  which  he  was  heartily  ashamed, 
came  over  him,  and,  with  a  hurried  step,  he  darted  away 
from  the  contemplation  of  a  picture  he  could  not  regard 
in  any  other  light  than  as  one  horrible  and  unholy. 
Humphries  was  not  the  slave  of  a  feeble  and  childish 
superstition,  but  the  natural  influences  which  aflect  the 
uneducated  mind,  commonly,  had  their  due  force  on 
his.  The  secret  cause  is  always  mysterious,  and  com- 
monly produces  enervating  and  vague  fears  in  the 
bosoms  of  all  that  class  of  people  who  engage  in  no 
thoughts  beyond  those  called  for  by  their  everyday 
sphere  and  business.  So  with  him — he  had  doubts, 
and  in  proportion  with  his  ignorance  were  his  appre- 
hensions. Ignorance  is  of  all  things  the  most  appre- 
hensive in  nature.  He  knew  not  whether  she  could 
have  or  not  the  power  that  she  professed,  and  his  active 
imagination  gave  her  all  the  benefit  of  his  doubt.  Still 
he  did  not  fear.  No  one  who  knew  his  usually  bold 
character,  his  recklessness  of  speech  and  action,  would 
deem  him  liable  to  any  fear  from  such  influences  as 
were  supposed  to  belong  to  the  withered  tenant  of  that 
isolated  hovel — and  yet,  when  he  thought  upon  the 
cheerless  life  which  she  led  and  seemed  to  love — when 
he  asked  himself  what  might  be  its  pleasures  or  its 
solace,  he  could  not  avoid  feeling  that  in  its  anti-social 
evidences  lurked  the  best  proof  of  its  evil  nature. 
Wherefore  should  age,  poverty,  and  feebleness,  fly  so 
far,  and  look  so  harshly  upon,  the  whole  world  around 
it?  Why  refuse  its  contiguity? — why  deny,  why 
shrink  away  from  the  prospect  of  its  comforts  and  its 
blessings  ?  AVhy  1  unless  the  mood  within  was  hos- 
tile— unless  its  practices  were  unfriendly  to  the  com- 
mon good,  as  they  were  foreign  to  the  common  habit,  of 
humanity  ?  He  knew,  indeed,  that  poverty  may  at  all 
times  sufficiently  account  for  isolation — that  an  acute 
T3 


222  THE    PARTISAN. 

sensibility  may  shrink  from  that  contact  with  the 
crowd  which  may,  and  does,  so  frequently  betray  or 
wound  it :  and  he  also  well  knew  that  there  is  no  sym- 
pathy between  good  and  bad  fortune,  except  as  the  one 
is  apt  to  desire  that  survey  of  the  other  which  will  best 
enable  it  to  comprehend  the  superior  benefits  of  its 
own  position.  But  that  old  woman  had  no  such  sensi- 
bilities, and  her  poverty  was  not  greater — not  so  great, 
indeed,  as  that  of  many  whom  he  knew  beside,  who 
yet  clung  to,  and  sought  to  share  some  of  the  ties  and 
regards  of  society,  though  unblessed  by  the  world's 
goods,  and  entirely  out  of  the  hope  of  a  redeeming 
fortune.  Did  he  not  also  know  that  she  exulted  in 
the  thought  that  she  was  feared  by  those  around  her, 
and  studiously  inculcated  the  belief  among  the  vulgar, 
that  she  possessed  attributes  which  were  dangerous 
and  unholy  ?  Her  very  pride  was  an  abomination  to 
humanity,  as  her  chief  source  of  satisfaction  seemed 
to  lie  in  the  exercise  of  powers  unwholesome  and 
annoying  to  man.  No  wonder  the  blood  grew  cold  and 
curdled  in  the  veins  of  the  blunt  countryman  as  he 
thought  upon  these  matters.  No  wonder  that  he 
moved  away  to  his  horse,  with  a  rapidity  he  would  not 
his  enemy  should  see,  from  a  spot  over  which,  as  his 
mind  dwelt  upon  the  subject,  such  an  infernal  atmos- 
phere seemed  to  brood  and  gather.  The  bark  of  the 
dog  as  the  hoofs  of  his  charger  beat  upon  the  ground 
while  he  hurried  alonghispath,  startledmore  completely 
the  old  hag,  who  half  rose  from  her  seat,  threw  up 
her  head  to  listen,  then,  pushing  the  dismembered 
brands  of  her  fire  together,  composed  herself  once 
more  in  her  chair  to  sleep. 

The  evening  of  the  day  upon  the  history  of  which 
we  have  been  engaged,  had  been  rather  remarkable  in 
the  annals  of  the  "  Royal  George."  There  had  been 
much  to  disturb  the  waters,  and,  we  may  add,  the  spirits 
in  that  important  domain.  There  had  been  a  partial 
sundering  of  ancient  ties — a  violation  of  sometime 
sacred  pledges,  an  awkward  collision  of  various  inter- 
ests.    On  the  ensuing  Monday,  Serjeant  Hastings,  of 


THE    PARTISAN.  223 

whom  we  have  already  seen  either  too  much  or  too 
little,  was  to  take  his  departure  with  the  notorious 
Captain  Huck  to  join  Tarleton  on  the  Catawba.  The 
interval  of  time  between  the  present  and  that  fixed  for 
this,  so  important,  remove,  was  exceedingly  brief; 
but  a  day,  and  that  a  holyday,  intervened — and  then 
farewell  to  the  rum  punch,  the  fair  coquette,  and 
the  pleasant  company  of  the  "  Royal  George."  The 
subject  was  a  melancholy  one  to  all  parties.  The 
Serjeant  preferred  the  easy  life,  the  good  company,  the 
cheering  liquor  of  the  tavern,  and  there  were  other  and 
less  honourable  objects  yet  in  his  mind,  unsatisfied, 
and  as  far  from  realization  as  ever.  Bella  Humphries 
had  too  little  regard  for  him  really  to  become  his  victim, 
though  he  had  spared  no  effort  to  that  end.  On  the 
contrary,  the  girl  had  latterly  grown  peevish  in  some 
respects,  and  he  could  clearly  perceive,  though  the 
cause  remained  unknown,  that  his  influence  over  her 
was  declining.  His  assumption  of  authority,  his  vio- 
lence, and  perhaps,  his  too  great  familiarity,  had  won- 
derfully lessened  her  regard  ;  and,  if  the  truth  must  be 
known,  John  Davis  was  in  reality  more  potent  in  her 
esteem  than  she  had  been  willing  to  acknowledge 
either  to  that  personage  or  to  herself.  While  Davis 
kept  about  the  tavern,  a  cringing  and  peevish  lover, 
contributing  to  her  conceit  while  acknowledging  her 
power,  she  was  not  unwilling,  with  all  the  thoughtless- 
ness of  a  weak  girl,  to  trifle  with  his  aff'ections ;  but 
now  that  he  had  absented  himself,  as  it  seemed  for  ever, 
she  began  to  comprehend  her  own  loss  and  to  lament 
it.  Subh  a  consciousness  led  her  to  a  more  close 
examination  of  Hastings'  pretensions,  and  the  result  of 
her  analysis  was  quite  unfavourable  to  that  worthy. 
His  many  defects  of  disposition  and  character,  his 
vulgarity,  his  impudence,  all  grew  remarkably  promi- 
nent in  her  eyes,  and  he  could  now  see  that,  when 
he  would  say,  in  a  manner  meant  to  be  alluring — 
"  Hark'ee,  Bell,  my  beauty — get  us  a  swig,  pretty 
particular,  and  not  too  strong  o'  the  lemon,  and  not 


224  THE    PARTISAN. 

too  weak  o'  the  Jamaica,  and  not  too  scant  consider- 
ing the  quantity," — there  was  no  sweet  elasticity  in 
the  utterance  of  "  Yes,  sergeant,  certain — coming," 
coupled  with  a  gracious  smile  and  a  quickness  of 
movement  that  left  the  time  between  the  order  and 
its  instant  execution  a  space  not  perceptible  even  to 
that  most  impatient  person,  himself.  He  could  feel 
the  change  now,  and  as  the  time  allowed  him  was 
brief,  and  opportunities  few,  he  hurried  himself  in 
devising  plans  for  the  better  success  of  a  design  upon 
her,  long  entertained,  of  a  character  the  most  vile  and 
nefarious. 

But  his  bill  remained  unpaid ;  and  this  was  the  worst 
feature  in  the  sight  of  our  landlord.  That  evening 
(Saturday)  the  worthy  publican  had  ventured  to  suggest 
the  fact  to  the  disregarding  memory  of  the  sergeant, 
who  had,  with  the  utmost  promptness,  evaded  the  de- 
mand. Some  words  had  passed  between  them — old 
Humphries  had  been  rather  more  spirited,  and  Hastings 
rather  more  insolent  than  usual  ;  and  the  latter,  in 
search  of  consolation,  made  his  way  into  the  inner 
room  where  Bella  officiated.  To  crown  his  discontent, 
his  appi'oach  was  utterly  unnoticed  by  that  capricious 
damsel.  He  dashed  away  in  dudgeon  from  the  house 
at  an  early  hour,  certainly  less  regretted  by  the  maid 
than  by  the  master  of  the  inn. 

Such  had  been  the  transactions  of  the  evening  of 
that  night,  when,  at  a  late  hour,  Humphries  approached 
the  dwelling  of  his  father.  The  house  lay  in  perfect 
shadow  as  he  drew  nigh  the  outer  buildings,  in  the 
rear  of  one  of  which  he  carefully  secured  his  horse. 
The  moon,  obscured  during  the  early  part  of  the  eve- 
ning, and  dim  throughout  the  night,  had  now  sunk 
westering  so  far,  that  it  failed  to  touch  entirely  the 
close  and  sheltered  court  in  front  of  the  house.  As 
he  drew  nigh,  moving  along  in  the  deeper  shadow  of 
the  fence  to  the  rear  of  the  dwelling,  for  which  he  had 
a  key,  he  started.  Was  it  a  footstep  that  reached  his 
ear  ?  He  squatted  to  the  ground  and  listened.  He 
was  not  deceived.     The  indistinct  outline  of  a  man 


THE    PARTISAN.  225 

cloSe  under  the  piazza,  was  apparent.  He  seemed 
busied  in  some  labour  which  he  pursued  cautiously, 
and  in  perfect  silence.  Humphries  could  see  that  he 
stooped  to  the  ground,  and  that  in  the  next  moment, 
his  arras  were  extended.  A  few  seconds  after  and 
the  person  of  the  man  seemed  to  rise  in  air.  The 
watcher  could  no  longer  be  mistaken.  Already  had 
the  nightstalker  taken  two  steps  upon  the  ladder  which 
he  had  placed  against  the  house,  when  Humphries 
bounded  forward  from  liis  place  of  watch.  His  soul 
was  on  fire,  for  he  saw  that  the  object  of  the  stranger 
was  the  chamber  of  his  sister,  the  windows  of  which 
looked  out  upon  the  piazza,  and  were  all  open,  as  was 
usual  in  the  summer  nights.  The  look  of  the  old 
hag,  her  strange  words  uttered  as  a  threat,  grew  strong 
in  his  mind,  and  he  now  seemed  to  understand  them. 
Drawing  his  dirk  from  his  bosom,  the  only  weapon  he 
had  ventured  to  bring  with  him  from  the  stable,  in  the 
fodder  of  which  he  had  hidden  his  sabre  and  pistols,  he 
rushed  furiously  towards  the  burglar.  But  his  move- 
ment had  been  too  precipitate  lor  success ;  and  with 
the  first  sound  of  his  feet,  the  marauder  had  dropped 
from  the  ladder,  and  taken  to  his  heels.  The 
start  in  his  favour  being  considerable,  gave  him  a  vast 
advantage  over  his  pursuer,  for,  though  swift  of  foot, 
active,  and  spurred  on  by  the  fiercest  feelings,  Hum- 
phries failed  to  come  up  with  him.  A  moment  after 
the  fugitive  had  leaped  the  fence,  the  dirk  of  the  former 
was  driven  into  that  part  of  it  over  which  his  body 
had  passed.     The  villain  had  escaped. 

Gloomy  and  disappointed,  the  brother  returned  to 
the  spot,  and  calmly  inspected  the  premises.  Pain- 
fully and  deeply  apprehensive  were  his  thoughts,  as 
he  surveyed  the  ladder,  and  the  open  windows  above. 
But  for  his  timely  arrival  there  would  have  been  little 
or  no  difficulty  in  effecting  an  entrance.  Did  the 
wretch  seek  to  rob  1  That  was  the  hope  of  Hum- 
phries. Could  it  be  possible  that  his  sister  had  fallen  ? 
was  she  a  victim,  privy  to  the  design  of  the  felon  ?  or 
did  he  only  now,  for  the  first  time,  seek  her  dishonour  ? 


226  THE  PARTISAN. 

He  knew  that  she  was  weak  and  childish,  but  he  also 
believed  her  innocent.  Could  she  have  looked  for  the 
coming  of  a  paramour  ?  The  unobstructed  windows, 
the  unbroken  silence,  the  confident  proceeding  of  the 
man  himself — all  would  seem  to  strengthen  the 
damning  idea  which  now  possessed  his  mind ;  and 
when  his  perpetually  recurring  thought  brought  to  him 
the  picture  of  the  old  hag,  her  hellish  glare  upon  him, 
and  her  mysterious  threat — a  threat  which  now  seemed 
no  longer  mysterious — the  dreadful  apprehensions 
almost  grew  into  certainty.  There  was  but  one,  and 
that  a  partial  mode,  of  ascertaining  how  far  the  girl 
was  guilty  of  participation  in  the  design  of  the  stranger ; 
and,  with  the  thought,  Humphries  at  once  ascended  the 
ladder  which  he  threw  down  after  him.  From  the 
piazza  he  made  his  way  to  the  girl's  chamber. 

A  light  was  burning  in  the  fireplace,  dimly,  and  with 
no  power  to  serve  him  where  it  stood.  He  seized  it, 
almost  convulsively,  in  one  hand,  while  the  uplifted  dag- 
ger was  bare  in  the  other,  and  thus  he  approached  the 
couch  where  she  lay.  He  held  the  light  above,  so 
that  its  glare  touched  not  her  eyes,  and  he  looked  down 
into  her  face.  She  lay  sleeping,  soundly,  sweetly, 
with  a  gentle  respiration  like  a  sigh  swelhng  equably 
her  bosom.  There  was  no  tremor,  no  start.  Her 
round,  fair  face  wore  a  soft,  smiling  expression, 
showing  that  the  consciousness  within  was  not  one  of 
guilt.  One  of  her  arms  hung  over  the  pillow,  her 
cheek  resting  upon  it ;  the  other  pressed  slightly  her 
bosom,  as  naturally  as  if  there  had  been  a  throbbing  and 
deeply  feeling  heart  under  it.  The  brother  looked, 
and  as  he  looked,  he  grew  satisfied.  He  could  not 
doubt  that  sleep ;  it  was  the  sleep  of  innocence.  A 
weight  of  nameless,  of  measureless  terror,  had  been 
taken  from  his  soul  in  that  survey  ;  and  nature  claimed 
relief  in  a  flood  of  tears.  The  drops  fell  on  the  cheek 
of  the  sleeper,  and  she  started.  With  the  movement, 
he  put  aside  the  dagger,  not,  however,  before  her  eyes 
had  beheld  it. 


THE    PAItTISAN.  227 

"  Oh,  William  !  brother,  dear  brother !  is  it  you  1 
and — the  knife  ?" 

She  had  caught  his  hand  in  her  terror,  and  amaze 
and  bewilderment  overspread  her  features. 

"  Sleep  on,  Bell,  sleep  on;  you  are  a  good  girl,  and 
needn't  fear." 

He  kissed  her  as  he  spoke,  and,  with  the  fondness 
of  a  sister,  and  the  thoughtlessness  of  a  girl,  she  began 
to  prattle  to  him  ;  but  he  bade  her  be  quiet,  and,  taking 
the  light  with  him,  descended  to  the  lower  apartment, 
adjoining  the  bar-room,  where  his  father  usually  slept. 
To  his  surprise  he  was  not  there,  but  a  gleam  through 
the  door  led  the  son  to  the  place  where  the  old  man 
usually  served  his  customers.  The  picture  that  met 
his  eye  was  an  amusing  one.  There,  at  length  upon 
the  floor,  the  landlord  lay.  A  candle  placed  beside 
him,  with  a  wick  doubled  over  and  blazing  into  the 
tallow,  lacked  the  friendly  aid  of  the  snuffers.  The 
old  man  was  too  deeply  engaged  in  his  vocation  to 
notice  this.  His  head,  resting  upon  one  hand,  was 
lifted  upon  his  elbow,  and  before  him  were  sundry  large 
boards,  covered  with  tallies  in  red  chalk  and  in  white, 
against  his  sundry  customers.  The  landlord  was 
busily  engaged  in  drawing  from  these  chronicles,  the 
particular  items  in  the  account  of  Sergeant  Hastings, 
which  he  transcribed  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  which  lay 
before  him.  A  tumbler  of  Jamaica,  of  especial  body, 
stood  conveniently  close,  from  which  he  occasionally 
drew  strong  refreshment  for  his  memory.  He  was 
too  earnest  in  his  labour,  to  notice  the  entrance  of 
his  son  at  first ;  but  the  other  had  too  little  time  to 
spare,  to  scruple  much  at  disturbing  his  father  at  his 
unusual  labour. 

"  Ah,  bless  me.  Bill — that  you?  Wliy,  what's  the 
to-do  now  1     What  brings  you  so  late  ?" 

"  Business,  business,  father,  and  plenty  of  it.  But 
get  up,  rouse  and  rustle  about,  and  get  away  from  these 
scores,  or  you  won't  understand  a  word  I  tell  you." 

The  landlord  rose  immediately,  put  his  board  aside, 
picked  up  the  sheet  containing  the  amount  in  gross 


228  THE  Partisan. 

charged  against  Sergeant  Hastings,  which  he  sighed 
twice  as  he  surveyed,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  was 
prepared  to  listen  to  what  his  son  could  say.  He 
heard  the  narrative  with  horror  and  astonishment. 

"  God  bless  us  and  preserve  us,  Bill !  but  this  is 
awful  hard  ;  and  what  are  we  to  do — where  shall  we 
run — ^how — " 

"  Run  nowhere,  but  listen  to  what  I  tell  you.  You 
can't  help  it  now,  but  you  may  make  something  out  of 
it.  If  Proctor  must  hear  the  truth,  he  may  as  well 
hear  it  from  you." 

"  From  me  ! — bless  me.  Bill,  my  boy — from  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  from  you.  Set  off  by  daypeep  to  the  fort, 
and  see  Proctor  yourself.  Tell  him  of  your  loyalty, 
and  how  you  love  the  king ;  and  you  can  cry  a  little 
all  the  time,  if  it  comes  easy  to  you.  I  don't  want 
you  to  strain  much  about  it.  Tell  him  that  you  have  an 
unworthy  gon,  that's  not  of  your  way  of  thinking.  Say 
he's  been  misguided  by  the  rebels,  and  how  they've 
inveigled  him,  till  he's  turned  rebel  himself ;  and  how 
he's  now  out  with  Marion's  men,  in  Major  Single- 
ton's squad.  When  you've  done  this,  you  can  cry 
again,  and  do  any  thing  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes* 
Say  it's  aU  owing  to  your  loyalty  that  you  expose  your 
own  flesh  and  blood,  and  mind  you  don't  take  any 
money  for  telling." 

"  Bless  me,  dear  boy,  but  this  is  awful  to  think  on.'* 

"  It  must  be  thought  on,  though,  and  the  sooner  the 
better.  Coming  from  you,  it  will  help  you  ;  coming 
from  that  skunk,  Goggle,  and  you  silent,  and  they  pack 
you  off  to  the  Charlestown  provost,  or  maybe  draw 
you  over  the  swinging  bough.  Tell  Proctor  our  force 
is  thirty  ;  that  we  lay  at  Slick  ford  last  night,  and  that 
we  push  for  Black  river  by  daypeep,  to  join  with  the 
Swamp  Fox.  This,  you  see,  will  be  a  truer  story 
than  Goggle  can  tell,  for  if  he  sends  Proctor  after  us 
to  Slick  ford,  he'll  have  a  journey  to  take  back." 

"  Bless  me,  what's  to  become  of  us  all,  Bill,  I  don't 
see.  I  am  all  over  in  a  fever  now,  ever  since  you 
tell'd  me  your  story." 


THE    PARTISAN.  229 

"  Shake  it  off,  and  be  comfortable,  as  you  can  be. 
Thinking  about  it  never  cured  the  shaking  ague  yet, 
and  never  will.     You  must  try." 

"  And  I  will  try — I  will,  boy ;  but  bless  me.  Bill, 
wouldn't  it  be  better  for  us  all  to  take  the  swamp — eh  ?" 

"  No — stay  where  you  are  ;  there's  no  need  for  you 
to  go  out,  and  you  can  do  good  where  you  are.  Be- 
sides, there's  Bell,  you  know  " 

"  True,  true." 

"  Lead  out  trumps,  that's  the  way,  and  mind  how 
you  play  'em ;  that's  all  you've  got  to  do  now,  and  if 
so  be  you  try,  you  can  do  it.  Don't  burn  daylight, 
but  be  with  Proctor  as  soon  as  sunrise  lets  you. 
Don't  stop  to  talk  about  Edisto  catfish,  or  what's  for 
dinner,  and  whether  it's  like  to  rain  or  shine,  but  push 
through  the  crowd,  and  don't  mind  your  skirts.  All 
depends  on  you,  now." 

"  Bless  us,  bless  us  !  what  times,  what  times  !  Oh, 
Bill,  my  boy,  what's  coming  to  us  !  Here  was  Huck, 
to-day,  and  says  Continental  Congress  is  to  make 
peace  with  Great  Britain,  and  to  give  up  Carolina  and 
Georgia." 

"  Oh  that's  all  a  fool  notion,  for  it's  no  such  thing. 
That's  all  a  trick  of  the  tories,  and  you  needn't  mind 
it.     But  what  of  Huck  ?" 

"  He  goes  a-Monday  to  join  Tarleton." 

"  Good ! — and  now  I  must  leave  you.  I've  got  a 
mighty  deal  to  see  to  afore  daylight,  and  I  won't  see 
you  for  a  smart  spell,  I  reckon,  as  I  shall  have  to  hug 
the  swamp  close  after  this.  Don't  be  slow  now, 
father,  'cause  every  thing  hangs  on  your  shoulders, 
and  you  must  tell  your  story  straight." 

In  their  dialogue  the  son  had  taken  care  to  omit 
nothing  which  a  shrewd,  thinking  mind  might  suggest, 
as  essential  to  the  successful  prosecution  of  the  plan 
advised.  This  done,  he  took  his  way  to  the  dwelling 
of  old  Pryor,  and  tapping  with  his  knife-handle  thrice 
upon  one  of  the  small,  but  ostentatious,  pine  pillars  of 
the  portico,  the  door  was  unclosed,  and  he  was  at  once 

Vol.  I.— U 


230  THE    PARTISAN. 

admitted,  as  one  who  had  been  waited  for.  There  we 
shall  leave  him,  conferring  closely  with  a  select  few, 
busy,  like  himself,  in  preparations  for  a  general  uprising 
of  the  people. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

she  is  lost ! — 

She  is  saved ! — Goethe. 

Humphries,  poor  old  man,  placed  himself  at  an 
eastern  window,  the  moment  his  son  had  departed,  to 
watch  for  the  first  openings  of  the  daylight.  What  a 
task  had  he  to  perform  !  what  a  disclosure  to  make  ! 
and  how  should  he  evade  the  doubt,  though  complying 
with  the  suggestion  of  reason  and  his  son  alike,  that 
he  should,  by  the  development  he  was  about  to  make, 
compromise  the  safety  of  the  latter.  Should  he  be 
taken,  the  evidence  of  the  father  would  be  adequate  to 
his  conviction,  and  that  evidence  he  was  now  about  to 
offer  to  the  enemy.  He  was  to  denounce  him  as  a 
rebel,  an  outlaw,  whom  the  leader  of  a  single  troop 
might  hang  without  a  trial,  the  moment  he  was  ar- 
rested. The  old  man  grew  miserable  with  his  reflec- 
tions, and  there  was  but  one  source  of  consolation. 
Fortunately,  the  supply  of  old  Jamaica  in  the  "  Royal 
George  "  was  still  good  ;  and  a  tumbler  of  the  precious 
beverage,  fitly  seasoned  with  warm  spices  and  sugar, 
was  not  ineffectually  employed  to  serve  the  desired 
purpose. 

And  with  this  only  companion,  whose  presence  mo- 
mently grew  less,  the  worthy  landlord  watched  for 
the  daylight  from  his  window  ;  and  soon  the  gray  mist 
rose  up  like  a  thin  veil  over  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees, 
and  the  pale  stars  came  retreating  away  from  the 
more  powerful  array  which  was  at  hand.  The  hum 
of  the  night  insects  was  over — the  hoarse  chant  of 
the  frog  family  was  silent,  as  their  unerring  senses 


THE    PARTISAN.  231 

taught  them  the  coming  of  that  glorious  and  beautiful 
presence  which  they  did  not  love.  Fold  upon  fold, 
like  so  many  variously  shaded  wreaths,  the  dim  curtain 
of  the  night  was  drawn  gradually  up  into  heaven,  and 
once  more  the  vast  panorama  of  forest,  river,  and  green 
valley  came  out  upon  the  sight,  rising,  by  little  and 
little,  into  life,  in  the  slowly  illumined  distance. 

The  moment  old  Humphries  saw  the  approach  of 
daylight,  he  finished  his  tumbler  of  punch,  and,  with  a 
sad  heart,  he  set  out  for  Proctor's  quarters.  Some 
little  delay  preceded  his  introduction  to  the  command- 
ant of  the  garrison,  who  received  him  graciously,  and 
civilly  desired  to  know  his  business.  This  was  soon 
imfolded,  and  with  many  pauses,  broken  exclamations 
of  grief  and  loyalty,  the  landlord  gave  a  brief  account, 
as  furnished  him  by  his  son,  of  all  the  events  which 
had  occurred  to  Singleton  and  his  squad  since  his  as- 
sumption of  its  command.  The  affair  of  the  tories  and 
his  troop  in  the  swamp — the  capture  of  the  baggage 
and  arms — the  delay  of  which,  a  matter  of  surprise  to 
Huck,  was  now  accounted  for — and  the  subsequent 
bivouac  upon  the  Stonoe  head,  were  quickly  unfolded  to 
the  wondering  Briton.  He  immediately  despatched  a 
messenger  for  Huck,  while  proceeding  to  the  cross- 
examination  of  his  informant — a  scrutiny  which  he 
conducted  with  respect  and  a  proper  consideration. 
All  was  coherent  in  his  story,  and  Proctor  was  inly 
troubled.  A  piece  of  daring,  such  as  the  formation  of 
Singleton's  squad,  so  near  the  garrison,  so  immediately 
in  the  neighborhood  and  limits  of  the  most  esteemed 
loyalty,  was  well  calculated  to  annoy  him.  The 
name  of  Major  Singleton  too,  grated  harshly  on  his 
ears.  He  could  not  but  remember  the  sinister  refer- 
ence of  Katharine  Walton  to  her  cousin  of  the  same 
name ;  and  he  at  once  identified  him  with  his  rival  in 
that  young  lady's  regard.  Huck  came  while  yet  he 
deliberated  ;  and  to  him  the  narrative  which  Humphries 
delivered,  who  stood  by  all  the  while,  was  also  told. 
The  tory  was  not  less  astounded  than  Proctor ;  and 
the  two  conferred  freely  on  their  news  before  Hum- 


232^  THE    PARTISAN. 

phries,  whose  loyalty  was  properly  confirmed  in  their 
opinion,  by  his  unscrupulous  denunciation  of  his  own 
son.  To  Huck,  the  commandant  of  the  garrison  was 
compelled  to  apply,  and  the  troop  of  the  former  was 
required  to  disperse  the  force  of  Singleton.  The 
garrison  guard  was  too  small,  under  the  doubtful  con- 
dition of  loyalty  in  the  neighborhood,  to  spare  a  de- 
tachment ;  and  it  was  arranged,  therefore,  that  Huck 
should  depart  from  his  original  plan  and  route,  which 
was  to  start  on  the  ensuing  day  for  Camden,  and  im- 
mediately to  make  a  circuit  through  the  country  by 
the  Stonoe,  and  having  done  so,  go  forward  by  Parker's 
Ferry,  and  gain,  by  a  circuitous  sweep,  the  course 
which  had  been  formerly  projected,  and  which,  indeed, 
the  orders  received  by  him  from  Cornwallis  compelled 
him  to  pursue.  It  was  hoped  that  he  would  over- 
haul the  little  force  of  Singleton,  in  which  event  it 
must  have  been  annihilated.  In  the  mean  time.  Proc- 
tor prepared  his  despatches  for  Charlestown,  calling 
for  a  supply  of  troops — a  call  not  likely  to  be  re- 
sponded to  from  that  quarter,  as  the  garrison  there  had 
been  already  drawn  upon  by  the  interior,  to  such  an 
extent  as  to  leave  barely  a  sufficient  force  within  the 
walls  of  the  city  for  its  own  maintenance.  This  Proc- 
tor knew,  but  no  other  hope  presented  itself,  and  glad 
to  use  the  troop  of  Huck,  he  contented  himself  with 
the  consciousness  of  having  done  all  that  could  be 
done  by  him,  under  existing  circumstances.  Civilly 
dismissing  Humphries,  he  would  have  rewarded 
him,  but  the  old  man  urged  his  simple  and  sincere 
loyalty,  and  shrunk  back  at  the  idea  of  receiving 
gold  as  the  reward  of  his  son's  betrayal.  He  did  his 
part  ably,  and  leaving  the  two  conferring  upon  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  tory's  route,  hurried  away  to  the  tavern 
in  no  enviable  state  of  feeling. 

His  son,  whom  we  have  seen  entering  the  dwelling 
of  old  Pryor,  was  glad  to  meet  with  several  sturdy  whigs 
in  close  conference.  They  had  been  stimulated  by 
the  whispers  of  an  approaching  army  of  continentals, 
and  the  vague  intelligence  had  been  exaggerated  in 


THE   PARTISAN.  233 

due  proportion  to  the  thick  obscurity  which  at  that 
time  hung  about  the  subject.  The  host,  himself — 
who  was  a  sturdy  patriot,  and  more  than  usually  bold, 
as,  of  late  days,  he  was  more  than  usually  unfortunate — 
presided  upon  this  occasion.  The  party  was  small, 
consisting  of  some  half  dozen  persons,  all  impatient 
of  the  hourly  wrongs,  which,  in  their  reckless  indif- 
ference to  the  feelings  of  the  conquered,  the  invaders 
continually  committed.  The  reduction  of  the  British 
forces  in  the  lower  county,  in  the  large  draughts  made 
upon  it  for  the  upper  posts,  had  emboldened  disaffec- 
tion ;  and  the  people,  like  snakes  long  huddled  up  in 
holes  during  the  severe  weather,  now  came  out  with 
the  tirst  glimpses  of  the  sunshine.  The  arrival  of 
Humphries  with  the  intelligence  which  he  brought, 
gave  them  new  spirits.  The  successes  of  Marion  at 
Britten's  neck,  and  Singleton  in  the  swamp,  of  which 
they  had  not  heard  before,  though  small,  were  yet  held 
an  earnest  of  what  might  be  anticipated,  and  what  was 
hoped  for.  The  additional  news  that  the  approaching 
continentals  were  to  be  commanded  by  Gates,  whose 
renown  was  in  the  ascendant — so  far  in  the  ascendant, 
indeed,  that  the  star  of  Washington  almost  sank  before 
it — went  far  to  give  hope  a  positive  body  and  a  form. 
Doubt  succeeded  to  bold  prediction,  and  the  conspirators 
were  now  prepared — those  reluctant  before — to  begin 
properly  the  organization  of  their  section,  as  had  been 
the  advice  of  Marion.  Still  they  were  not  altogether 
ready  for  the  field.  Property  was  to  be  secured,  fami- 
lies earned  beyond  reach  of  that  retribution  which  the 
enemy  usuEtlly  inflicted  upon  the  feeble  in  return  for  the 
audacity  and  defiance  of  the  strong  ;  arms  were  to  be 
procured,  and,  until  the  time  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton's  in- 
dulgence— the  twenty  days — had  expired,  they  deter- 
mined to  forbear  all  open  demonstration.  To  these, 
Humphries  had  already  designated  their  leader,  in  the 
person  of  Col.  Walton,  whom  they  all  knew  and  es- 
teemed. His  coming  out  they  were  satisfied  would 
alone  bring  an  active  and  goodly  troop  into  the  field. 
Popular  as  he  was,  both  in  St.  Paul's  and  St.  George's, 
U2 


234  THE    PARTISAN. 

it  was  confidently  believed  that  he  would  bring  both 
the  parishes  out  handsomely,  and  his  skill  as  a  leader 
had  been  already  tried  and  was  highly  estimated.  The 
spirits  of  the  little  knot  of  conspirators  grew  with  every 
enumeration  of  their  prospects  and  resources,  and 
they  looked  up,  as  daylight  approached,  full  of  hope 
and  mutual  assurances.  Two  of  the  party  agreed  to 
come  out  to  Humphries,  in  the  contiguous  wood,  by 
the  first  ringing  of  the  bell  for  sabbath  service — for  the 
day  was  Sunday — and  there,  at  a  given  spot,  the  lieu- 
tenant was  to  await  them. 

Before  the  daylight  he  took  his  departure,  and  lead- 
ing his  horse  into  the  close  swamp  thicket  on  the  river, 
where  his  first  conference  with  Singleton  had  taken 
place,  he  fastened  him  carefully,  took  his  seat  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree  which  overhung  the  river,  and  there 
mused,  half  dozing,  for  the  brief  hour  that  came 
between  the  time  and  the  dawning.  But  soon  the 
light  came  winding  brightly  and  more  brightly  around 
him  ;  the  mists  curled  up  from  the  river,  and  the  breeze 
rising  up  from  the  ocean,  with  the  dawn,  refreshed 
and  animated  him.  He  sat  watching  the  mysterious 
separation  of  those  twin  agents  of  life,  night  and  day, 
as  the  one  rolled  away  in  fog  along  the  river,  and  the 
other  burst  forth,  in  gleams  from  the  sky  and  bloom 
upon  the  earth.  But  these  sights  were  not  such  as 
greatly  to  amuse  our  lieutenant,  and  the  time  passed 
heavily  enough,  until  about  eight  o'clock,  when,  from 
the  river's  edge,  he  distinguished,  crossing  the  bridge 
at  Dorchester,  the  time-worn,  bent  figure,  of  the  old 
Dame  Blonay.  She  was  on  her  way  to  the  garrison  for 
the  revelation  of  that  intelligence,  which  his  father 
had  by  this  time  already  unfolded.  The  lieutenant  now 
understood  a  part  of  the  design,  and  readily  conceived 
that  such  was  the  purport  of  her  visit  to  the  village. 
Yet  why  had  not  her  son  undertaken  the  task  himself ''. 
Why  depute  to  an  infirm  old  woman  the  performance 
of  an  object  so  important  ?  The  question  puzzled 
him ;  and  it  was  only  a  dim  conjecture  of  the  truth, 
which  led  him  to  believe  that  Goggle  had  made  his  way 


THE  PARTISAN.  235 

back  to  camp  with  the  view  to  some  farther  treachery. 
As  the  hag  grew  more  distinct  to  his  eye,  in  the  in- 
creasing light,  her  sharp  features — the  subtle  cast  of 
her  eye — the  infirm  crazy  motion — bent  shoulders, 
and  witch-like  staff  which  she  carried,  brought  many 
unpleasant  images  to  the  mind  of  the  observer;  and 
the  singular,  and,  to  him,  the  superstitious  fear  which 
he  had  felt  while  gazing  upon  her,  through  the  crevices 
of  her  hut  the  night  before,  came  back  to  him  with  in- 
creased influence.  He  thought  of  the  thousand  strange 
stories  of  the  neighborhood,  about  the  witchcraft  prac- 
tised by  her  and  others.  Indian  doctors  were  then,  all 
over  the  country,  renowned  for  their  cures,  all  of 
which  were  effected  by  trick  and  mummery,  mixed  up 
with  a  due  proportion  of  forest  medicines — wild  roots 
and  plants,  the  properties  of  which,  known  through 
long  ages  to  the  aborigines,  were  foreign  to  the  knowl- 
edge, and  therefore  marvellous  in  the  estimation  of  the 
whites.  To  their  arts  the  Gullah  and  the  Ebo  negroes, 
of  which  the  colony  had  its  thousands  furnished  by  the 
then  unscrupulous  morality  of  its  neighbours,  added 
their  spells  and  magic,  in  no  stinted  quantities,  and  of 
the  foulest  and  filthiest  attributes.  The  conjuration 
of  these  two  classes  became  united  in  the  practice  of 
the  cunning  white,  of  an  order  little  alcove  them,  and 
Mother  Blonay  formed  the  representative  of  a  sect  in 
the  lower  country  of  South  Carolina,  by  no  means 
small  in  number  or  trifling  in  influence,  and  which,  to 
this  day,  not  utterly  extinguished,  remains  here  and 
there  in  the  more  ignorant  sections,  still  having  power 
over  the  subject  minds  of  the  weak  and  superstitious. 

As  we  have  said,  Humphries  was  not  one,  if  the 
question  were  to  be  asked  him,  to  say  that  he  believed 
in  the  powers  thus  claimed  for  the  old  woman  before 
us.  But  the  bias  of  years,  of  early  education  and 
associates,  was  insurmountable  ;  and  he  felt  the  influ- 
ence which  his  deliberate  reflection  would  be,  never- 
theless, at  all  times  disposed  to  deny.  He  felt  it  now 
as  she  came  towards  him,  and  when,  passing  along,  he 
saw  her  move  towards  the  dwelling  of  his  father,  he 


236  THE    PARTISAN. 

remembered  her  mysterious  speech  associated  with 
the  name  of  his  sister,  and  his  blood  grew  cold  in  his 
veins,  though,  an  instant  after,  it  again  boiled  with  a 
fury  naturally  enough  arising  from  the  equivocal  regard 
in  which  that  speech  had  seemed  to  place  her.  As 
she  passed  along  the  copse  to  the  edge  of  which  his 
feet  had  almost  followed  her,  he  placed  himself  in  a 
position  to  observe  the  direction  which  she  would 
pursue  in  entering  the  village,  and  was  satisfied  of  her 
object  when  he  saw  her  bending  her  way  to  the  fortress. 
We  need  scarce  add  that  she  told  her  story  to  Proctor, 
and  was  listened  to  coldly.  She  had  brought  him 
no  intelligence,  and,  indeed,  he  knew  rather  more  than 
herself.  But  one  point  of  difference  existed  between 
the  account  given  by  old  Humphries  and  the  woman. 
The  one  stated  that  Singleton's  band  had  withdrawn 
from  the  Stonoe,  and  had  pushed  for  Black  river — the 
other  affirmed  it  to  be  there  still.  The  difference  was 
at  once  made  known  to  Huck,  a  portion  of  whose 
troopers  were  even  then  getting  into  saddle.  The  resi- 
due were  soon  to  follow,  and  the  whole  were  expected 
to  rendezvous  that  night  at  Parker's  ferry.  Mother 
Blonay  was  mortified  that  she  brought  no  news  to  the 
gan-ison  ;  but,  as  her  story  confirmed  that  of  Hum- 
phries, Proctor  gave  her  a  reward,  small,  however,  in 
comparison  with  what  had  been  expected.  She  left  the 
garrison  in  bad  humour,  and  was  soon  joined  on  her 
way  by  Sergeant  Hastings,  whose  orders  required  him 
to  march  with  the  detachment  which  was  to  follow 
Huck  that  afternoon.  His  chagrin,  on  this  account, 
was  not  less  than  hers.  A  bitter  oath  accompanied  the 
information  which  he  gave  her  of  the  orders  he  had 
just  received.     The  two  then  spoke  of  another  matter. 

"  Far  off  as  ever,  mother,  and  without  your  help 
there's  nothing  to  be  done  now.  Last  night  I  was  in 
a  fair  way  enough,  but  up  comes  that  chap  her  brother 
— it  could  be  nobody  else — and  I  had  to  cut  for  it.  I 
•went  over  the  fence  then,  a  thought  quicker  than  I 
should  be  able  to  do  it  now." 

"  It  was  not  Bill  Humphries  you  saw,  for  he  M'as  at 


THE    PAr.TISAN.  237 

my  cabin  long  time  after  hours  last  night ;  and  then  he'd 
not  venture  in  this  quarter  now.  No — no.  'Twas  the 
old  man,  I  reckon." 

"  Maybe,  though  he  seemed  to  run  too  fast  for  the 
old  fellow.  But  no  matter  who  'twas.  The  thing 
failed,  and  you  must  chalk  out  another  track." 

"  I  will ;  don't  fear,  for  I've  said  it  ;  and  come  fire, 
come  storm,  it  must  be  done.  Goggle — Goggle — 
Goggle  !  He  must  pay  for  that,  and  he  shall ;  she 
shall — they  shall  all  pay  for  that,  and  old  scores  besides. 
It's  a  long-standing  account,  sergeant,  and  you  can 
help  me  to  make  it  up  and  pay  it  off;  and  that's  the 
reason  I  help  you  to  this.  I  shall  go  about  it  now, 
and — "  After  a  pause,  in  which  she  seemed  to  medi- 
tate a  while — "  Yes  ;  m.eet  me  in  the  swamp  thicket 
above  the  bridge,  just  alter  you  pass  the  Oak  Grove." 

"  When  r' 

"  This  morning — soon  as  the  bells  strike  up  for 
church,  and  before  the  people  begin  to  come  in  freely. 
Don't  be  backward,  now,  but  come  certain,  and  don't 
wait  for  the  last  chimes." 

The  worthy  pair  separated,  and  the  glimpses  of  a 
previous  connection  which  their  dialogue  gives  us, 
serves  a  little  to  explain  some  portions  of  our  own 
narrative. 

While  this  matter  had  been  in  progress,  two  sturdy 
troopers  joined  Humphries  in  the  swamp.  Their 
horses  were  carefully  hidden,  and  they  determined  to 
await  the  time  when  the  roads  should  be  free  from  the 
crowd  on  their  way  to  church,  before  they  ventured 
abroad.  They  amused  themselves  as  well  as  they 
might,  keeping  close  in  cover  themselves,  by  watching 
the  people  as  they  crossed  the  bridges,  hurried  along 
the  highway  leading  to  the  village,  or  lounged  on  the 
open  ground  in  front  of  the  church ;  for  all  of  these 
points  might  easily  be  commanded  from  different  places 
along  the  thicket.  There  came  the  farmer  on  his 
tacky,  in  his  coarse  striped  breeches,  blue  homespun 
coatee,  and  broad-brimmed  hat ;  there,  the  whirling  car- 
riage, borne  along  by  four  showy  bays,  of  the  wealthy 


238  THE    PARTISAN. 

planter  ;  there,  the  trudging  country-girl  in  her  huge 
sunbonnet  and  short-waisted  cotton  frock ;  and  there, 
in  little  groups  of  two  or  three,  the  negroes,  male  and 
female,  with  their  own  small  stock  of  eggs,  chickens, 
blackberries,  and  sassafras,  ploughing  their  way  through 
the  heavy  sands  to  occupy  their  places  in  the  village 
market. 

While  Humphries  looked,  he  saw,  to  his  great  vexa- 
tion, the  figure  of  Dame  Blonay  approaching,  accompa- 
nied by  his  sister.  All  his  suspicions  were  reawak- 
ened by  the  sight.  The  girl  was  dressed  as  for  church. 
Her  dress  was  simple,  suited  to  her  condition,  and  well 
adapted  to  her  shape,  which  was  a  good  one.  Her 
bonnet  was  rather  fine  and  flaunting,  and  there  was 
something  of  gaudiness  in  the  pink  and  yellow  dis- 
tributed over  her  person  in  the  guise  of  knots  and 
ribands.  But  still  the  eye  was  not  offended,  for  the 
habit  did  not  show  unfavourably  along  with  the  pretty 
face,  and  light,  laughing,  good-natured  eye  that  anima- 
ted it.  What  a  contrast  to  the  old  hag  beside  her. 
The  one,  capricious  enough,  was  yet  artless  and  simple 
— the  other  was  even  then  devising  plans  for  her  ruin. 

"  Come,  my  daughter,  come  farther — I  would  not 
others  should  hear  what  I  say  to  you  ;  and  I  know 
it  will  please  you  to  know.  The  wood  is  cool  and 
shajjy,  and  we  can  talk  there  at  our  ease." 

"  But,  mother,  wasn't  it  a  strange  dream  now— a  very 
strange  dream,  to  think  that  I  should  be  a  great  lady, 
and  ride  in  my  coach  like  the  ladies  at  '  Middleton 
Place,'  and  '  The  Oaks,'  and  '  Singleton's,'  and  all  the 
rich  people  about  here  ? — and  it  all  seemed  so  true, 
mother — so  very  true,  I  didn't  know  where  I  was  when 
I  woke  up  this  morning." 

There  was  a  devilish  leer  in  the  old  hag's  eye,  as 
she  looked  into  that  of  the  vain-hearted  but  innocent 
girl  beside  her,  and  answered  her  in  a  speech  well 
calculated  to  increase  the  idle  folly  already  so  active 
in  her  mind.  Humphries  heard  nothing  of  the  dia- 
logue— he  was  quite  too  far  off;  but  he  felt  so  deeply 
anxious  on  the  subject  of  the  old  woman's  connection 


THE    PARTISAN.  239 

with  his  sister,  that  he  had  actually  given  some  direc- 
tions to  the  two  troopers  along  with  him,  and  was 
about  to  emerge  from  his  cover,  and  separate  them  at 
all  hazards,  when  the  bells  from  the  village  steeple 
struck  up,  and  warned  him  of  the  extreme  risk  which 
he  must  run  from  such  an  exposure  of  his  person. 
The  same  signal  had  the  effect  of  bringing  the  two  more 
closely  to  the  copse,  to  which  the  old  woman,  now,  by 
various  suggestions,  contrived  to  persuade  her  com- 
panion. While  they  approached  the  thicket,  Humphries 
changed  his  course  and  position,  so  as  to  find  a  con- 
tiguous spot,  for  the  concealment  of  his  person,  the 
moment  they  should  stop,  which  would  enable  him  to 
gather  up  their  dialogue  ;  and  it  was  not  long  before 
they  paused,  at  the  old  woman's  bidding,  in  a  well- 
shaded  place,  completely  unseen  from  the  road,  and 
quite  out  of  hearing  from  the  village.  Here  the  con- 
versation between  them  was  resumed — Mother  Blonay 
leading  off  in  reply  to  something  said  by  Bella,  the 
purport  of  which  may  be  guessed  from  the  response 
made  to  it. 

"  A  bad  dream,  do  you  say,  my  daughter  ?  I  say  it 
is  a  good  dream,  and  you're  a  lucky  girl,  if  you  don't 
stand  in  the  way  of  your  own  fine  fortune.  There's 
good  coming  to  you :  that  dream's  always  a  sign  of 
good ;  it  never  fails.  So  mind  you  don't  spoil  all  by 
some  foolish  notion."  * 

"  Why,  how  sliall  I  do,  mother  1  what  shall  I  say  ? 
Dear  me  !  I  wouldn't  do  any  thing  to  spoil  it  for  the 
world !" 

And  the  two  seated  themselves  upon  the  green  turf 
in  the  thicket,  the  right  hand  of  the  girl  upon  the  knee 
of  the  hag,  while  her  eyes  looked  up  apprehensively 
and  inquiringly  into  the  face  of  the  latter.  She  gave 
her  some  counsel,  accordingly,  in  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion, of  a  vague,  indefinite  character,  very  mysteriously 
delivered,  and  the  only  part  of  which,  understood  by 
Bella,  was  a  general  recommendation  to  her,  quietly 
to  receive,  and  not  to  resist  her  good  fortune. 

"  But,  mother,  I  thought  you  said  you  would  show 


240  THE    PARTISAN. 

him  to  me — him,  my  true-and-true  husband,  that  is  to 
be.  Now  I  wonder  who  it  can  be.  It  can't  be  John 
Davis,  for  he's  gone  away  from  the  village,  and  they 
say  he's  out  in  the  swamp,  mother — can  you  tell  ?" 

"  No,  Bella  ;  and  it's  no  use :  he's  nothing  at  all 
to  you." 

"  You  think  so,  mother  ?  Well,  I'm  sorry  ;  for  I  do 
believe  John  had  a  true-and-true  love  for  me  in  his 
heart,  and  he  often  said  so.     I  wonder  where  he  is." 

"  John  Davis,  indeed,  my  child  !  how  can  you  speak 
of  such  a  fellow  1  Why,  what  has  he  to  show  for 
you  1  A  poor  shoat  that  hasn't  house,  nor  home,  nor 
any  thing  to  make  a  wife  comfortable,  or  even  feed 
her  when  he  gets  her.  No,  no,  girl,  the  husband 
that's  for  you  is  a  different  sort  of  person — a  very 
different  sort  of  person,  indeed." 

"  Oh,  do,  mother  !  can't  you  tell  me  something  about 
him,  now  ? — only  a  little  ;  I  do  so  want  to  know.  Is 
he  tall,  now,  or  short  ?  I  hope  he's  tall — eh  ? — middle 
size,  and  wears — oh,  speak,  mother !  and  don't  shake 
your  head  so — tell  me  at  once  !"  And  the  girl  pressed 
forward  upon  the  old  woman,  and  her  eye  earnestly 
watched  the  features  of  her  countenance,  heedless  of 
the  ogre  grin  which  rested  upon  her  lips,  and  the  gen- 
erally fiendish  expression  of  her  skinny  face.  The 
old  woman  did  not  immediately  answer,  for  her 
thoughts  seemed  to  wander,  and  her  eye  looked  about 
her,  as  if  in  search  of  some  expected  object. 

"  What  do  you  look  for,  mother  1 — you  don't  mind 
what  I  say,  do  you  V 

"  I  was  looking  and  thinking,  my  daughter,  how  to 
answer  you  best.  How  would  you  like,  now,  instead 
of  hearing  about  your  husband  that  is  to  be,  to  see  him  ?" 

"  What !  can  you  make  him  come,  mother,  like  a 
picture,  with  a  big  frame  round  him  1  and  shall  I  see 
him  close — see  him  close  1  But  I  mustn't  touch  him, 
I  suppose  ;  for  then  he'd  vanish,  they  say." 

"  Yes, — how  would  you  like  to  see  him,  now,  Bella  1" 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  I  should  be  frightened  !     You'd  better 


THE    PARTISAN.  241 

tell  me  who  he  is,  and  don't  bring  him  :  though,  indeed, 
mother,  I  can't  think  there  would  be  danger." 

"  None — none  at  all,"  said  the  old  woman  in  reply, 
who  seemed  disposed  to  prolong  the  dialogue. 

"  Well,  if  he  only  looked  like  John  Davis,  now  !" 

"  John  Da\'is,  indeed,  Bella  ! — what  do  you  say, 
now,  of  the  sergeant,  Sergeant  Hastings  ?  suppose  it 
happened  to  be  him,  now  V 

'"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  Sergeant  Hastings,  mother ; 
for  I  was  a  fool  to  mind  him.  He  don't  care  that  for 
me,  I  know :  and  he  talks  cross  to  me  ;  and  if  I  don't 
run  myself  out  of  breath  to  serve  him,  he  says  ugly 
things.  Besides,  he's  been  talking  strange  to  me,  and 
I  don't  like  it.  More  than  once  I've  been  going  to 
tell  brother  William  something  that  he  once  said  to 
me  :  and  I  know,  if  I  had,  there  would  have  been  a 
brush  between  them ;  for  William  won't  stand  any 
thing  that's  impudent.     Don't  talk  of  him  to  me." 

"  But  I  must,  my  daughter,  for  it  cannot  be  helped. 
If  I  see  that  he's  born  to  be  your  husband,  and  you  his 
wife,  it  must  be  so,  and  I  must  say  it." 

"  No,  no — it's  not  so,  mother,  1  know.  It  shan't 
be  so,"  said  the  girl,  firmly  enough.  "  I  won't  believe 
it,  neither,  and  you're  only  plaguing  me." 

"  It's  a  truth,  Bella,  and  neither  you  nor  I  can  help 
it,  or  keep  it  off.  I  tell  you,  child  that  you  were  born 
for  Sergeant  Hastings." 

"  But  I  won't  be  born  for  him,  neither.  I  can't,  and 
I  won't,  for  you  don't  know  what  he  said  to  me,  and 
it's  not  good  for  me  to  tell  it  again,  for  it  was  naughty  ; 
and  I'm  sorry  I  ever  talked  cross  to  poor  John  Davis, 
and  I  did  so  all  because  of  him." 

The  change  in  her  regards  from  Hastings  to  her 
old  lover,  was  a  source  of  no  small  astonishment  to 
the  old  hag,  who  knew  not  how  to  account  for  it.  It 
gave  less  satisfaction  to  her  than  to  Humphries,  who, 
in  the  neighbouring  bush,  heard  every  syllable  which 
had  been  uttered.  The  secret  of  this  change  is  easily 
given.  As  simple  as  a  child,  the  mere  deference  to 
her  claims  of  beauty,  had  left  her  easily  susceptible  of 

Vol  I.— X 


242  THE    PARTISAN. 

imposition ;  and  without  any  feeling  actually  enlisted 
in  favour  of  Hastings,  she  had  been  on  the  verge 
of  that  precipice — the  gulf  which  passion  or  folly  so 
often  prepares  for  its  unheeding  votaries.  His  profes- 
sions and  flatteries  had  gradually  filled  her  mind,  and 
when  his  continued  attentions  had  driven  all  those 
away,  from  whom  she  had,  or  might  also  have  received 
them,  it  followed  that  she  became  a  dependant  entirely 
upon  him,  who,  in  creating  this  state  of  subservience, 
had  placed  her,  to  a  certain  degree  at  least,  at  his 
mercy.  She  felt  this  dependence  now,  and  it  some- 
what mortified  her ;  her  vanity  grew  hurt,  when  the 
tone  of  deference  formerly  used  by  her  lover,  had  been 
changed  to  one  of  command  and  authority  ;  and  she 
sometimes  sighed  when  she  thought  of  the  unremitting 
attentions  of  her  old  lover  from  Goose  Creek,  the  in- 
defatigable Davis.  The  gaudy  dress,  and  imposing 
pretensions,  had  grown  common  in  her  eye,  while,  at 
the  same  time,  the  inferiority  of  the  new  lover  to  the 
old,  in  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  genuine  regard,  had 
become  sufficiently  obvious.  She  had,  of  late,  insti- 
tuted the  comparison  between  them  more  than  once, 
and  the  consequence  was  inevitable.  There  was  no 
little  decision  in  her  manner,  therefore,  as  she  refused 
to  submit  to  the  fate  which  Mother  Blonay  desired  to 
impose  upon  her. 

"  But,  Bella,  my  daughter — " 

"  No,  no,  mother — don't  tell  me  of  Sergeant  Hastings 
any  more — I  wont  hear  of  him  any  longer." 

"  And  why  not,  Bella,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  the  re- 
doubtable sergeant  himself,  coming  from  behind  the 
trees  and  speaking  to  her  with  a  mixed  expression  of 
pride  and  dissatisfaction  in  his  countenance — "  why 
not,  I  pray,  my  dear  ?" 

The  poor  girl  was  dumb  at  this  intrusion.  She 
scarcely  dared  to  look  up,  as,  with  the  utmost  compo- 
sure, Hastings  took  a  seat  beside  her.  The  old  hag 
who  had  arranged  the  scheme,  at  the  same  moment 
rose  to  depart.  Quick  as  thought,  Bella  seized  her 
hand  and  would  have  risen  also,  but  with  a  gentle 


THE    PARTISAN.  248 

force  the  sergeant  prevented  her,  and  retained  his  hold 
upon  her  wrist  while  compelling  her  to  resume  the 
seat  beside  him. 

"1  must  go,  sergeant — father  is  waiting  for  me  I'm 
sure — and  the  bells  are  'most  done  ringing.  Don't 
leave  me,  mother." 

But  the  old  woman  was  gone,  and  the  girl  sat  trem- 
bling beside  the  strong  man  who  held  her,  speaking, 
when  she  did,  in  a  tremor,  and  begging  to  depart.  But 
why  dwell  on  what  ensued.  The  brutal  suitor  had  but 
one  object,  and  did  not  long  delay  to  exhibit  its  atro- 
cious features.  Entreaties  were  succeeded  by  rude- 
nesses ;  and  the  terrified  girl,  shrieking  and  screaming  to 
the  old  hag  who  had  decoyed  and  left  her,  was  dragged 
recklessly  back  by  the  strong  arms  of  her  companion. 

"  Cry  away — Goggle  now — Goggle  now — Goggle 
now — scream  on,  you  poor  fool — scream,  but  there's 
no  help  for  you."  And  as  the  old  beldam  thus  an- 
swered to  the  prayers  of  the  girl,  she  was  stricken 
aside  and  hurled  like  a  stone  into  the  bush,  even 
while  the  fiendish  soliloqny  was  upon  her  lips,  by  the 
raging  brother,  who  now  darted  forward.  In  an- 
other instant,  and  he  had  dashed  the  ravisher  to  the 
earth — torn  his  sister,  now  almost  exhausted,  from  his 
grasp — and  with  his  heel  upon  the  breast  of  Hastings, 
and  his  knife  bared  in  his  hand,  that  moment  would 
have  been  the  last  of  life  to  the  rufiian,  but  for  the 
intervention  of  the  two  troopers,  who,  hearing  the 
shriek,  had  also  rushed  forward  from  the  recesses  in 
the  wood  where  the  providence  of  Humphries  had 
placed  them.  They  prevented  the  blow,  but  with 
their  aid  the  sergeaiu  was  gagged,  bound,  and  dragged 
down  into  the  copse  where  the  horses  awaited  them. 

"  Oh,  brother — dear  brother  William !"  cried  the 
terrified  girl — "  believe  me,  brother  William,  but  it's 
not  my  fault — I  didn't  mean  to  do  wrong  !  I  am  inno- 
cent— that  I  am  !" 

She  hung  upon  him  as  if  she  feared  his  suspicions. 
He  pressed  her  to  his  arms  while  weeping  like  a  very 
child  over  her. 


244  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it,  Bella  !  and  God  knows  how 
glad  I  am  to  know  it  !  Had  I  not  heard  all  between 
yon,  I'd  ha'  put  this  knife  into  you,  just  the  same  as  if 
you  were  not  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  But  go  now — 
run  to  church,  and  pray  to  have  some  sense  as  well  as 
innocence ;  for  innocence  without  sense  is  like  a 
creeping  baby  that  has  not  yet  got  the  use  of  its  arms 
and  legs.  Go  now — run  all  the  way — and  mind  that 
you  say  nothing  to  the  old  man  about  it." 

Throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him, 
she  hurried  upon  her  way  with  the  speed  of  a  bird  just 
escaping,  and  narrowly,  from  the  net  of  the  fowler. 


END    OF    VOL.  I. 


.^ 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 

PS2818 
•P2 

1835 

v.l 


